Bitter Sirens
by kysis-the-bard
Summary: The world is a different place after Loki's army of Chitauri invaded Manhattan. But is it a better place? Is the world ready to know about superheroes and aliens? Or are they ready for the fallout when one of Earth's Mightiest goes rogue? Eventual pairings: Stanner, Frostiron.
1. Part I Chapter I: A New Direction

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **This is a warnings master list, since this is the first chapter and all. I realize the moment that any more Marvel movies come out, this story will technically be AU. I'm fine with that. This is what I would have done, continuing straight from the Avengers movie. This also has men who are attracted to other men. And dark themes. Violence. Blood. Language. Alcohol. Insanity. Torture. Social unrest. Sex. Psychological warfare. Unethical practices. And other disturbing things.

**Author's Note:** Someone asked me on tumblr if I would do a multi-chaptered fic. That got me thinking. What would I have happen after the end of the Avengers? This was my answer.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART I: PUTTING THE WORLD BACK TOGETHER**

**CHAPTER I: A NEW DIRECTION**

Everyone was already shuffling out of the meeting room, minds already far away. He couldn't blame them. Tony couldn't join them either, and it wasn't just because his entire back was black and blue and he might have a cracked rib and wasn't particularly looking forward to moving. He sat there in the plush leather executive chair, fingers fiddling with his pen as he frowned at the glass table.

This was neutral grounds—better than, even, this was _his_ tower—but Fury still set him on edge. He didn't show it, of course, but it was there. The man was a super spy. He had found out, without Tony even knowing of his existence (okay, that was a lie too, but he hadn't _cared_ about Fury's existence), that the arc reactor was giving him palladium poisoning and was actually killing him. And that Tony was on the verge of suicide by alcohol or gunfire or anything else that might kill him.

He frowned a little deeper, eyes trailing Banner as he slowly, stiffly, left the room. Tony sighed. Nevermind. There were more important matters to deal with. Like this "new direction" S.H.I.E.L.D. was apparently going in. He wanted to know more about that, and would rather do it the easy way. Which was probably going to be hacking their databases again.

"Is there something you need, Mr. Stark?"

"You know, after everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours, you'd think we'd be on a first name basis." Tony worked up his usual smirk. It felt a bit more snide than usual, but it was appropriate, so he rolled with it.

Fury kept his hands clasped behind his back. There was dust flecking his leather trench. It was probably from being in the tower, since the title of Director meant staying back from the frontlines and yelling orders while everyone else risked their necks and flew nukes through intergalactic portals.

Not that Tony was bitter or anything.

"You still have not answered my question, Mr. Stark."

Tony rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. That was a bad idea. It knocked the smirk right off his lips, but he refused to let anything else show, especially not pain. Spies probably got off on pain. That seemed like Natasha's dish, at least.

"Okay, so, this new direction." Tony scooted up to the table, hands out. He had to do something with his hands to keep himself on track. "I highly doubt that it's just let the Avengers Initiative split up and go wherever and live happily ever after."

"And if it is?"

He shook his head. "I don't believe you. Gotta say, you have a horrible track record with lying."

"Your point?"

"It sounds like you are still looking for the Space Balls version of nuclear deterrent."

"The Avengers Initiative is our nuclear deterrent."

"Right." Tony laughed. He knew he was treading on thin ice. Wasn't he always? That wasn't the problem, though. "I highly doubt the helicarrier is cost effective to keep running at all times, even if it's just on the water."

"You're right. And from what I hear, there are a few levels of Stark Tower that just opened up."

"Excuse me?" Tony rose from his chair slowly, hands stilling.

"Don't act like you can't hear me." Fury finally turned, one eye narrowing on him. Tony froze where he was standing, like they were playing red light, green light, and Fury was about to send him back to the starting line. "If you were actually paying attention to your own company, you would have noticed a private organization buying Stark Industries stock for the last two years."

"Controlling interest. That's your play?"

Fury smiled. Tony didn't like it. Whoever had the controlling interest in stock could steer the direction of the company, albeit subtly.

"You want Stark Industries back in weaponeering."

"No, we want more clean energy." Fury had a way with sarcasm. As in, it was immediately obvious when he was being sarcastic. Even Thor might be able to figure it out.

"We don't do weapons contracts anymore." Tony rubbed his hands together. They were shaking. He shoved them in his pockets. "Push all you want. I won't sign off on it."

"I was being serious, Mr. Stark." Fury flashed that smile, the one that said he was going to shoot someone in five seconds, probably the one he's smiling at, and the bang was going to make him happy. "I am interested in moving an _off season_ S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters into your tower, and preferably, there will be appropriate areas for each member of the initiative."

"Doctor Banner can control it—"

"I wasn't talking about Doctor Banner. I was talking about _all of you_, especially you, Mr. Stark. You have a way of becoming _very_ unruly."

"Gee, thanks, I didn't just save New York City from becoming a sparking radiation crater. Don't worry about it."

"Stark—"

"I think we're done here." Tony lifted his wrist, glancing down at it. He wasn't wearing a watch. The gesture would have to do. They had a bitter and badly defeated supervillain to ship back to Asgard, among other things, and the clock was ticking.

Thankfully, Fury didn't try to stop his departure, otherwise there might have been problems.


	2. Part I Chapter II: Other Plans

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **Men attracted to other men, arguments, Tony Stark's mouth (that should be a legitimate warning).

**Author's Note:** Just so everyone knows, I am doing this as my entry for CampNaNoWriMo, which means that during the month of June, I will write over 50,000 words on this fic. That is approximately 1700 per day. If this is like any other NaNo experience for me, that generally means pulling random 10,000 word days to catch up, because I am an insufferable slacker. Haha.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART I: PUTTING THE WORLD BACK TOGETHER**

**CHAPTER II: OTHER PLANS**

He paused outside the elevator, bag clutched in his hands. It was military issue, thick canvas, and would do great for traveling. His old suitcase was beyond worn out and did not have enough room for more than a few changes of clothes and a toothbrush, much less the instruments S.H.I.E.L.D. had the good grace to lend him, packed away carefully.

Bruce Banner was ready to go, wherever it was he ended up going this time. He still was not sure about that. Normally he wasn't. The lack of predictability, even to himself, had served him well in the past.

The lobby of the Stark Tower was in ruins, concrete dust covering everything like white sheets, chunks of rubble and aliens strewed about with just about as much frequency as one another. Tony had parked right in the middle of it all, sleek sports car severely out of place. It was like he did not even care, though, tossing the keys to someone who must have worked for him.

Tony sauntered straight to the elevator, pushing the button and standing there, impatient as ever. Bruce moved more slowly, careful with his footing. He would hate to slip; everyone would turn and stare at him, afraid that he would do more than fall. He couldn't really blame them. For years, Bruce had had the same exact fear.

He frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

That fear was still there, even with Tony acting like there was nothing wrong. That seemed to be the way he dealt with things. It was not that easy. He wished it was. He really did. But nothing was as easy as Tony made it seem.

The elevator door dinged open, the lights inside flickering off and on. Tony got in, arms crossed over his grey blazer. He was still wearing his sunglasses. Bruce rolled his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside.

They started up with a jump. Bruce held his breath, closing his eyes. He'd never liked elevators or the way they made his stomach feel. Or the fact that it was a little steel box suspended on cables. That only made his stomach feel worse. Bruce let out a shaky sigh, hands fidgeting with a strap on his bag. It kept him occupied.

He expected Tony to keep him occupied. Normally he was talking at a million miles an hour, slipping between technojargon and petnames and random quips so seamlessly it was like he was a computer. He might as well have been, though ninety-percent of the computers in the world probably couldn't multitask like _the_ Tony Stark.

The silence was unnerving.

"So." Bruce started off awkwardly. He always did. What the always debonair billionaire saw in him he'd never know. "You did not look entirely pleased about the Tesseract going back."

Tony hummed next to him. Bruce could hear him roll back onto the heels of his polished shoes. Those shoes were probably worth more than Bruce had made in the last ten years. Then again, so was the outfit he was wearing, borrowed straight from Tony's closet, with Pepper Pott's help. They matched, in a strange way. It didn't help him feel any more comfortable.

"You wanted to do more tests on it."

"Hey." Tony smiled, holding his hands up like he was surrendering. They both knew he wasn't the surrendering type, making it almost comical. "When science gives me sex eyes that dirty, I have a hard time saying no."

Leave it to Tony to make a sexual innuendo about something completely non-sexual. Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. He just shook his head. That was all he could do in reply to half Tony's remarks.

"Come on, like you didn't want to."

"No, actually, I didn't." Bruce finally opened his eyes. The elevator was still going up. His stomach lurched again. "I think the Tesseract has caused enough problems without you poking it."

Tony let out an offended gasp, pressing a hand to his heart. Bruce highly doubted Tony was offended. In fact, he doubted that it was even possible. This was just dramatics (and to think, apparently Tony had called Loki a diva).

"Making science with me is a much more intricate process than just poking things."

There he went again.

Bruce didn't even try to suppress his sigh this time. He ran a hand up over his face, pushing his wayward salt-and-pepper curls off his forehead.

"Are you ready to see Candyland?" Tony nudged him with an elbow and a wink. He wasn't helping things.

"Look, Tony, I… I didn't come here to see Candyland."

Tony licked his lips, mashing them together. It wasn't innuendo this time. Bruce knew that look. It was the same look Tony got when Captain Steve Rogers made digs about his character.

"I came to give you back these clothes." Bruce tugged at the pressed yellow collar of his shirt. It was comfortable, the fabric soft and clean, but it wasn't his. "And to say good bye."

Bruce made the mistake of looking up and immediately cursed himself mentally for it. Tony had that _look_. It was too vulnerable, too open, too sad. He could see the layers of armor—one Iron Man, one billionaire, one playboy, one philanthropist—peeled away, and it made him uncomfortable. He felt like he'd just kicked a puppy.

"Tony, I'm sorry, I just can't—"

"Can't _what_?"

The force of the question jarred him just as much as the sudden stop of the elevator did. Bruce took in a deep breath and let it out, air rattling in his lungs. He repeated, counting backwards from ten.

"You know it's too dangerous—"

"That excuse again? Really? After everything _you_ did—"

"It wasn't _me_, Tony, it was the _other guy_ and—"

"The other guy ran two blocks and launched himself into the air to catch me from a freefall from _space_! If that wasn't an admiral display of self control, then I don't know what is!"

The elevator door slid open. Beyond it was Tony's promised Candyland. He could see the soft glow of computer screens and the shine of clean metal instruments and machines and he could hear the hushed, reverent chatter of the world's most brilliant minds at work. It was everything he could have dreamed of and more.

Tony stepped out of the elevator, spinning on a heel to face him. He held out a hand.

"Tony…" Bruce looked down at his shoes again. He couldn't look into those eyes and say what he had to. "It would only take one slip. One moment of not being in complete control." Bruce counted up to ten this time. It didn't help as much as he was hoping. "And then all of this, everything you've spent all these years building, it'll be gone."

That hand wavered. It stayed up, just barely in his field of view.

"I'm sorry."

Bruce pressed the button for the bottom floor.


	3. Part I Chapter III: Control

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **Men attracted to other men, arguments, Tony Stark's mouth (that should be a legitimate warning).

**Author's Note: **I am loving getting into different character's heads, learning how all the cogs work, then trying to get those cogs work on the page. And it is really rewarding when I can actually hear the character's voice narrating my words. It's… magical. Writing is magical.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART I: PUTTING THE WORLD BACK TOGETHER**

**CHAPTER III: CONTROL**

"We were wondering, Mr. Stark, if Stark Industries was going to foot any of the repair cost for Manhattan."

Tony stared down at the podium, pencil in hand. He finished drawing the curve of a wall, tilting his head to the side. The reporter cleared his throat, finally pulling his gaze back up.

Press conference. Right.

He really did not want to be doing this right now.

"It's not enough that I took a nuclear warhead that was aimed for Manhattan and flew it through an intergalactic portal, saving the city from being completely obliterated?" Tony let his gaze roll over the gathering, cameras flashing like strobes from all sides. He should be used to this by now. He had been. Right now, he really couldn't care less.

Tony looked back down at the small stacks of papers he had. Normally, this would all be digital. Normally, he wouldn't be completely ignoring a press conference—okay, maybe that was false—but they could not have picked a worse time.

"Sir, what happened to the war criminal who led the invasion?"

That brought his eyes back up again. A plain looking man in a brown suit had his hand raised. He was probably the one who'd asked. Thankfully, Tony had been prepared for that question.

"I am not at liberty to discuss that topic. Classified information." Tony forced a smile. "And would you look at that, time is up. Pack up everyone. Out. Out. Out." Tony waved, going back to his drawing.

0

"What are you working on?" Pepper kept one arm wrapped around her, the other holding up a fluted glass. She pressed her lips to the rim, but did not drink. Her cheeks were already dusted pink, a warm flush. She was glad she had already toed off her shoes and was wearing jean cut-off shorts, otherwise it would be entirely too warm in there.

Tony pushed his hands apart on the table-top screen, files unfurling under his touch. Sometimes she still marveled at how fast he could work with holographic images. She was still getting used to them. Even then, she preferred a phone in her hand, or an actual computer. Sometimes she wondered if Tony even knew what a normal computer looked like.

In a matter of moments, a 3-D hologram of the Stark Tower stood on the table. Pepper walked up beside him, looking down. The files spread out looked like floor diagrams, each of them slightly different.

"When did you become an expert in architectural design?" Pepper took a ship, nudging Tony with her hip. Despite that, he kept concentrated, picking out details here and there, turning them, spinning them, no doubt analyzing them before she could even get a good look at them. The neon lines were a little difficult to concentrate on.

"Making some modifications to the Tower."

"I noticed." Pepper reached out, grabbing one of the floors. It was nothing like the floor she remembered being there, but it did match one of the files. "What are these places?"

Tony grabbed the floor back from her, slotting it back into the whole.

Giggling, she swiped at the top of the tower, cleaving the whole R&D department off the display. Tony finally glanced up, brown eyes focusing on her.

"Press conferences don't normally get you this worked up."

"It wasn't the press conference." Tony frowned at the display, picking his penthouse off it and whisking it to the side. The floor beneath it matched another one of the files. That one had a hawk seal on it. It almost looked like the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo.

"Was it S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Pepper let out a little oops sound, pressing her fingers to her lips. "Not that I know anything about it."

Tony rolled his eyes. He reached out, sinking his fingers into the building. With a twist, he pulled the layers apart. They scattered, falling easily apart. It looked so easy, to pull send the tower flying into pieces. The wonders of technology.

Speaking of the wonders of technology, Tony didn't seem to be responding to anything but. Pepper put on her usual smile, tapping the edge of the glass against her lips. "Tony… I'll be in bed. It's late. So." She reached over, leaning as well. Tony didn't even turn.

Downing the rest of her glass, she set it down on the table, walking quickly away.

Tony didn't come to bed. He wasn't even in the penthouse in the morning. Figured.

0

The Tower was like a hive, a buzzing, writhing hive, and the coffee wasn't done brewing yet. Tony sagged against the counter, staring at the pot. Thick, dark coffee spilled into the carafe, but not nearly fast enough. He groaned, lowering his head to the counter with a thump.

S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents were everywhere. The construction zones, the offices, the labs, _everywhere_.

Tony grabbed the pot, yanking it out. The drip stopped, a few drops splashing on the heating pad. He slopped coffee in his mug and shoved the pot back in, the stream starting again. Tony took a rough gulp. It was dark and bitter. Exactly what he needed right now.

"Hello… Mr. Stark?"

Groaning, Tony turned his head. The man was wearing a black suit, pressed white shirt, and straight black tie. Tony glanced at his nametag, squinting. Couldn't make it out. Tony turned his face back to his coffee mug, slurping loudly from it.

"Sir, I am here on behalf of Director Fury."

Tony sighed. It was too early to deal with Nick Fury. It was too early to deal with S.H.I.E.L.D. and its agents. It was too early to be functioning, unless he was in his garage, at which point he probably wouldn't have slept at all, so it wasn't early, it was just time to work.

"What?" Tony knocked back the second half of his coffee back like a shot. That was a thought. There had to be whisky somewhere nearby.

"Director Fury would like to extend a formal thanks for allowing a S.H.I.E.L.D. field office to find its home in your tower." The man smiled. Tony rolled his eyes. "And he would like to thank you for the technological advancements you have given to S.H.I.E.L.D. over the past two years."

"He's paying me." Tony sloshed more coffee into his mug. He needed a bigger coffee pot. And a faster one.

"Yes, but—"

"No buts. Out." Tony tipped the mug back.

"Sir, I work here."

"That's nice." Tony downed the second cup. This wasn't even his record. He wouldn't be slacking, but the coffee pot couldn't keep up. It was starting to trickle. If JARVIS was hooked up to the coffee pot, this wouldn't be a problem. He should actually do that.

"Sir—"

"You know what, I'll leave." Tony dumped the last of the coffee in his mug the moment it stopped dripping, pushing himself up off the counter. "I can't concentrate with you here anyway."

The agent looked baffled, but didn't say anything else. That was good, because the caffeine was starting to hit his bloodstream. He could feel the synapses speeding up. It was glorious. Tony sauntered out, going straight to his private elevator—which was empty, thankfully—and punched up to his penthouse.

It looked like the perfect day to go on a flight. To Malibu. For a long time.


	4. Part I Chapter IV: Eyes

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **unethical practices, Banner being Banner, nothing too heavy.

**Author's Note: **Okay, this fic is really getting running. And I am loving it. Even if I'm not really getting reviews. Which sucks, because my muse eats reviews, and it's kind of starving right now. Please drop me a review? Or a critique? I love critiques.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART I: PUTTING THE WORLD BACK TOGETHER**

**CHAPTER IV: EYES**

The water was warm, even from the tap. He rolled his wrists, trying to dispel some of the tension in the muscles. Frowning, Bruce lathered his hands, up his wrists. There was not any soap at the rickety sink. It was probably a blessing the little building even had running water.

He shut the water off with his elbow, holding his hands up to let them air dry. It probably wouldn't happen. The humidity clung to his skin like an oppressive wet blanket. His clothing clung to him awkwardly. Despite that, the salt air was nice, as was the breeze coming off the Caribbean.

It was a little building, a makeshift hospital. They were somewhere south of Playa del Carmen. Bruce was not really sure where at the moment, but it didn't matter. Eventually, he'd go further inland. They had more need of doctors in the jungle, surely, but for now, this would do.

Every day was the same. That was nice. There were no alien invasions. No mythological gods trying to take over the world. He was surrounded by the familiar sounds of the sick. This was something he could handle. None of them looked at him judgingly, none of them looked at him with expectation. Rather, they looked at him with hope.

Bruce pressed the stethoscope to a young man's chest, listening. His cough was wet. That was not good. Bruce frowned, the expression scrunching up his entire face. He set about to work immediately, doing what he could. It was not much, not yet.

Perhaps he would be able to do more soon. A book on local plant life sat half out of his bag, a few Pesos sticking out of it at awkward angles. He tried denying payment, but really, he needed the money, especially if he wanted to actually buy some medicine. And he needed food.

The day went by exactly as the last few had, only a little busier. Word of a doctor from America spread like wildfire, and there had been a steady stream of patients already. Bruce could keep up with it, even at his leisurely pace. They seemed to appreciate his calm demeanor, which was good. He did not want to risk anything else.

The next day went the same.

And the next after that.

Bruce had a little room of his own, a tiny cubicle, but enough. There was a cot in the corner and enough room to put his bag down and even lay out a few of his possessions, if he wanted to. Normally he just stashed the bag under the cot, the room practically looking unlived in.

The next day after that was routine as well.

It was the one after that which unsettled him. It was a small village, and word of anything strange traveled fast. There were foreigners in town, snooping around. Bruce took in a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses.

No matter where he went, he would still be followed. He would still be watched.

Bruce packed his stuff, not that there was much to pack, and left during the night. They headed on a mud road out into the jungle. He would be more use in the smaller villages anyway.


	5. Part I Chapter V: Prep Work

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **spy stuff. Umm, vague hints at PTSD and possible psychological trauma.

**Author's Note: **The engines are running. The world post-Chitauri attack is just about set up, which means the gear of the plot are going to be kicking in very soon. This is that turning point.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART I: PUTTING THE WORLD BACK TOGETHER**

**CHAPTER V: PREP WORK**

"What's the story this time?"

Director Fury set the file on the table, spinning it to face her. She picked it up, flicking it open with a cocked red brow. Normally Fury had all the files in digital form. The only person they really bothered with paper for was Steve, and that's because he was still in a bit of culture shock. She was good with technology.

"Are you afraid Stark still has all your databases tapped?"

Fury looked down, slightly to the left. He was frustrated, even though he did not openly express it. Natasha smiled. She could read most people like an open book; Director Fury was no exception.

"The virus was removed."

"Yes, but this is Stark we are talking about. Off in Malibu or not, he has his ways."

This was true. Natasha gave a slight nod in ascent, scanning over the file. "Secretary. Hmm." She flipped the page, glancing over what her background was going to be. She had it memorized in under a minute, repeating it like a mantra in her head. She flipped to the next page. "So, is this merely recognizance?"

"Yes. I need eyes and ears in the U.N. and I need them now. The Council was not happy with any of what transpired. I need to know if the rest of the world shares that sentiment."

"Where will Agent Barton be?" She smoothed the file shut, laying it back on the desk. She would not take it with her. She knew all she needed to. This was just a routine operation.

"I don't think I will be giving him any new assignments just yet."

Natasha frowned. This was about the Tesseract. "He proved himself in Manhattan, just like the rest of us."

"And I don't like taking chances." Director Fury reclined in his chair, good eye still locked on her. She kept perfectly still, face impassive. "That is all, Agent Romanoff."

There was no arguing with Fury about this. She could hear the door closing in his voice, could see it in his posture. Most of all… Fury looked tired.

Now was not the time to comment on it. She stood quickly, pivoting on her heel and walking away. She needed to pack basic supplies, mostly for defensive measures. If this was anywhere near as routine as it sounded, she would not even need that much.

0

"How's the remodel on the Tower going?"

_Everything is running ahead of schedule, Sir_.

Tony paused in the entertainment space—it was far too big to be considered a living room—hands in his pockets as he stared out the windows. The ocean was calm, little white peaks showing on waves here and there, but not too much. It was a horrible day for surfing.

The mansion had gotten a make-over of its own in the past year. A few, actually. Every time he fixed the place up, he ended up having to tear half of it down again for another project. It was totally worth it.

No longer having palladium poisoning was definitely worth it.

Tony tapped a finger against his arc reactor, face twisted in thought. He didn't have any paperwork to sign. He needed to get working on some suit modifications to the Mark VII, not to mention the repairs. It had really taken a beating over Manhattan.

"Jarvis, warm up the lights in the garage and wake up all my friends down there."

_Yes, Sir. I am certain they will be very happy to see you._

"Am I detecting sarcasm?" Tony turned, glaring up at the ceiling. He knew J.A.R.V.I.S. could see him through the cameras, though whether or not the AI could distinguish between all his facial expressions was an entirely different matter.

He was growing, though. That was the problem with AI. He had built it as a simple help around the house originally, and now it was smart enough to help with all his projects.

_No, Sir. Of course not. I would never be sarcastic._

Tony rolled his eyes, slinging off his coat. He tossed it. It landed on the corner of a chair, which was better than the floor, he guessed. That off, he started unbuttoning his dress shirt, heading down the stairs.

It would be nice to have a chance to actually make something again. He had to take advantage of the time while it lasted.

0

The click of her heels echoed down the long hallway, vaulted ceilings and stone archways doing nothing to muffle them. She turned a sharp corner, stepping into the shadows. There was no one else in the cathedral right now, other than monks, but they had more important things to concentrate on.

Flicking out her phone, she pressed it to her ear. It took half a ring for Director Fury to pick up.

"_Is this a secure line?"_

"Yes. My line is encrypted and it pings between three different satellites and two routers before getting to you." Natasha paused, red painted lips pursed as she waited for Fury's hum of approval, which came shortly. "I have information to report."

"_Okay. Shoot."_

"I have a place in the main proceedings, as a transcriber." She smiled wistfully. They thought she could not understand anyone but the member from her own 'country' and because of that, she'd gotten the job immediately. While all the delegates were wearing translators on their ears, she was translating in her head, taking mental notes for later.

"_And?"_

"And many members of the U.N. are worried that S.H.I.E.L.D. is directly affiliated with the United States of America and as such, makes them too powerful."

She could hear the seething sigh Fury let out over the line. He was frustrated. She would be too, if she was in his position.

"_So now that the aliens are gone, we're back to squabbling between countries?"_

"Yes, Sir, it would seem that way."

"_Good work. Keep me updated on the situation. I think it's time I started pulling some strings."_

"Of course." Natasha flicked her phone shut, tucking it away quietly. She looked around the corner first, carefully, before going out into the courtyard again. She had half an hour before the next meeting started, so she had to be quick.


	6. Part I Chapter VI: Freedom, Lie

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **This is getting dark really fast. Those of you who know my writing will realize this is natural. Those of you who don't… sorry.

**Author's Note:** Wow. I'm not going to lie, this chapter did surprise me a bit. And I'm loving it. Since I'm a little behind on my wordcount quota for CampNaNoWriMo, there will probably be another chapter today. It's still early, after all.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART I: PUTTING THE WORLD BACK TOGETHER**

**CHAPTER VI: FREEDOM, LIE**

He sat on the floor, legs crossed like a pretzel, cot in front of him. His bag sat on his lap. Most of his possessions were laid out on the cot, clothing sorted and sloppily folded. He'd just done laundry down at the river earlier that day and found a sunny spot to hang it all, which was the only reason it was dry at this point.

Books, medical supplies, a few bottles of generic medicines, the clothing afforded to him… Bruce fished into the bag, pulling out a wad of ties. He tossed those to the side. That looked like it. Bruce turned the bag upside-down, shaking it.

A card clattered to the concrete floor.

Bruce picked it up, fingers running over the raised numbers and letters. He turned it over. It was a credit card. The Stark Industries logo was printed on the upper left-hand side of it. Bruce's name was printed on it. He frowned. Tony must have slipped it in his bag at some point.

Sighing, Bruce tossed it in the bag. He couldn't accept it. Tony probably knew that. Plus it was another way to be traced. Tony probably had a whole computer devoted to picking up any transactions made on that card. Bruce should probably just throw it in the ocean or something.

Leaving it in the bottom of his bag, he started packing up his meager possessions again, leaving all the medical supplies on the top, where he could access them easily. He liked being ready to go, but he also needed to be able to help out when he did stop.

0

He let his head drop to the desk with a thump. He knew people were watching him, recording his every movement, his every twitch, but at the moment, he couldn't really care. Clint let out a shaky sigh against the stack of papers.

Tests. It had been days of tests. He didn't know how he was doing, so each new day, when he was escorted to this room with the one-way glass wall and the camera in the corner, he felt more and more anxious. Every question looked harder, looked like it could be interpreted in millions of ways he could not possibly comprehend, could not possibly intend, and it took longer and longer for him to put down his answers in writing.

If only he knew what the tests meant, if only he knew what everyone was getting out of them, he might not be in this position right now, forehead to a stack of papers, pencil shaking in his left hand, about to snap.

He put the pencil down on the table. He knew if he snapped it in half, it wouldn't look good. Hell, none of this probably looked good.

Natasha's cognitive recalibration obviously wasn't enough for them. Him being in the middle of the battle in Manhattan obviously wasn't enough, either. All the others were free, out prancing around doing whatever it was they did, and here he was, in what was, for all intensive purposes a cell. Day in, day out.

The camera whirred, turning to the side, before going back again. He wondered how many people were watching that feed. He wondered how many people were on the other side of that glass. He wondered if Tasha was one of them.

Clint pushed himself up, staring down at the top page again. It was math, simple math. He could probably do it in his sleep, especially the trajectory calibrations. He did those every day he was on the shooting range.

He flexed his hands, muscles tense, unhappy. It had been a long time since they'd let him hold his bow. He felt naked without it. They had to know that. They had to know this confinement, this lack of activity, was like a stranglehold.

Sighing, Clint picked up the pencil again, going through the paces.

The testing had to stop sometime.

0

Banner dipped his hands in the bucket, swishing them around. There was no running water out here. He had to hike a mile through the jungle to get to a natural spring, then hike back with water. He boiled it before using it, keeping the buckets covered. The long walks were nice, peaceful, alone. It felt like freedom, in a way.

Getting all the blood off his hands, he stood from his squat, shaking the water off. That was probably as dry as his hands were going to get for a while. He spoke to the family in hushed Spanish, listening hard. There was another language mixed in by the locals, Mayan from what little he could pick up. It was an interesting pigeon. If he stayed here much longer, he'd start picking it up.

The family thanked him, offering him a small corn and plantain cake wrapped in banana leaves. Bruce tried to decline with an awkward smile, but the father of the family said it was all they could give him.

Trying not to look saddened by that, Bruce took the tiny little cake. They returned to the cot-side, holding their son's hand. He'd fallen off their roof and gotten a pole through him. Bruce had cleaned it up the best he could, removing little fragments of metal.

Those fragments had made him think of Tony, of the shrapnel he still had in him. Bruce brushed those thoughts aside just as he set the cake off to the side. He would eat it later, if he did not give it to someone else who was in more need than him.

A shadow fell across him, Bruce glancing up.

It was a man in a suit, black and flawless, a pressed white dress shirt and a black tie. There was a badge clipped to his jacket, with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo. Bruce let out a shaky breath, staring down at the ground.

There were a lot of people in the run down, windowless and doorless building. A lot of people who trusted that this was a safe place, where family members could get well, where there was hope.

And here was S.H.I.E.L.D. to ruin that for them.

"You shouldn't be here." Banner spoke the words to his feet. He rubbed his hands together slowly, spreading the last drops of water across his calloused hands.

"I believe it would be to both of our benefits if we took this conversation outside, Dr. Banner."

He was probably right, but how did he know there would not be a whole team of S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives waiting for him outside. He glanced out one of the open windows, out into the night jungle. It was alive with sounds, but they were all natural, birds calling and animals scurrying about. He was sure it would have been deathly silent outside if there was a team.

"Fine." Banner pushed his hands in his pockets, walking outside. The air was still oppressively warm, like having a wet canvas bag thrown over his head. He didn't like that feeling at all right now. "What do you want?"

"I am merely here to check on you at the behest of S.H.I.E.L.D., to make sure you are living comfortably—"

"To make sure I haven't had any incidents." Bruce breathed the words out, staring at the star spattered sky. To think, there were whole other civilizations out there, among the stars. It was still mind-blowing at times.

"Yes."

"Well, I hate to tell you, but constantly dropping in on me like this does wonders for my stress levels."

He could see the agent tense in his periphery. He hadn't even sounded angry. A bitter laugh fell from his lips before he could help it. The agent was clutching something under his suit jacket, probably a gun. That was novel.

"You know full well that won't do anything." Banner pulled his reading glasses out of his pocket. There were flecks of blood on the lens. He polished it slowly on his button-up shirt, watching it with distant eyes.

The agent took a step away, hands falling to his sides. He raised them slowly, in a sort of surrender. Bruce could see his fear, even in the corner of his vision. It beaded in tiny sweat drops glossing his forehead; it was hot out, very humid, but Bruce knew the difference.

"I suggest you leave now." Bruce held up his glasses. They were as polished as they would get. He slid them back into his shirt pocket.

The agent turned, walking out into the darkness.

If there weren't patients in there who still desperately needed his help, he would take his bag and leave. He would go further into the jungle, further from civilization. It was likely a few of his patients would die if he just left, though.

He couldn't have more blood staining his hands.


	7. Part I Chapter VII: Trust

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **Tony Stark being Tony Stark and Nick Fury being Nick Fury. References to the other movies and stuff. Um… hacking? Should that be a warning?

**Author's Note: **This chapter was a pain in the ass to write. Just sayin'.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART I: PUTTING THE WORLD BACK TOGETHER**

**CHAPTER VII: TRUST**

Tony tapped his fingers to the beat of the drums blaring over the speakers, bouncing in his chair. A new arm piece was cradled on the table before him, held up with lights everywhere, making the unpainted metal absolutely shine. The support struts and hydraulics were still showing, but he wasn't done yet.

The Mark VII was going to be a thing of beauty when he was done with it.

And then he would start on the Mark VIII.

The song ended, Tony stilling for a moment. He frowned. He'd just been getting into his groove. Maybe that was a bad thing. He'd spent most of the song jamming out and not actually working.

"How's the encryption going?"

"_I unencrypted the files an hour ago, Sir."_

That was… "How long have I been down here, Jarvis?"

There was a pause, as though it actually took time to compile that information. After a few too many seconds for his liking, JARVIS gave his thoughtful response. _"Are we only counting time spent here since it became Monday, or are you referring to total time, Sir?"_

Tony rolled his eyes. "Nevermind. Pull up the files for me." Tony spun in his chair, wheeling over to his desk. All the monitors flared to life across their glass screens. Tony rubbed his goatee, staring at his own reflection for a moment. There were circles under his eyes and stubble lined his whole jaw. Some of it was grey, which had him frowning deeper.

Finally, the files came up, Tony scanning over them quickly. Steve Rogers was in London on leave from his duties. Tony flicked that report to the side, going to the next one. Clint Barton was at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, currently grounded from all missions. That was interesting, but Tony flicked that to the side as well. Natasha Romanoff was somewhere in Europe, spy duty as usual. Tony flicked that to the side next. At least she was out of his hair.

Phil Coulson was… Tony sat up sharper. Apparently he was at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ as well. Interesting. Tony leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping on his arc reactor. It glowed brightly beneath his black tank-top. Fury was a lying son of a bitch. Nothing was new there, though. Tony flicked to the next one.

It was a picture of that agent who had pestered him in the kitchen. He didn't recognize the name. The guy was down in Mexico. Lucky bastard.

Tony kept flipping. Apparently there was a whole team of agents down in Mexico or Guatemala. This wasn't looking like a fieldtrip anymore. Tony kept flipping.

Bruce Banner.

Tony ran a hand up over his face, taking a deep breath. After a moment, he looked up again, taking his time with the information.

Bruce was in Mexico.

The Yucatan Peninsula.

Near the border between Mexico and Guatemala.

Blood rushed through his ears, throbbing in his temples. The sound of his music faded. He knew it was still there, somewhere, beyond his attention. He couldn't look away from the screen.

Tony jumped up, running for the door.

0

He cut power to the thrusters, landing with a hard thud. It jolted right up his legs, shock absorbers only doing so much. Tony Stark pulled up to his full height, the high winds buffeting him out there, exposed as the side of Stark Tower was. The platform beneath him began to spin, metal arms pulling up.

"Not yet." Tony waved the arms off, voice metallic and cold as he marched down the short flight of stairs and along the curve of the walkway back to his penthouse. The construction crews had done a number on it. Everything looked pristine, perfect, like nothing had happened.

It seemed like that was how S.H.I.E.L.D. was acting and he didn't like it. No one bit.

Tony marched to the elevator in his suit, stepping in. This felt ridiculous. Ridiculously necessary. He only had to go down a few floors to get to the one where S.H.I.E.L.D. was making their new home away from home. If he wasn't so damn focused he might have let a few repulsor blasts go as warning shots, taken out a few cubicles as he talked for the office against the window.

A secretary stood and started babbling at him. His HUD pulled up her name badge and her file, which Tony flicked away with his eyes. He walked around her, strides strong and heavy in his suit.

"Mr. Stark, you can't just—"

"Like hell I can't."

Tony kicked the door. It exploded inward, splintering at the hinges with a satisfying crunch. He walked right over the wreckage, HUD zooming in on the executive chair turned away from him. He could see Fury's reflection on the window.

"Knock knock, asshole."

Fury swiveled slowly, elbows on the arm rests, fingers steepled. What, had he been reading 'How to be a Director of a Secret Organization 101' again? Tony would have laughed at his own humor if he was actually at all humored by this.

"Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah, maybe you can tell me why you sent a whole team down to Mexico."

Fury's expression didn't change. It was like he'd been waiting for Tony to hack back into his computer systems. It was like he had been expecting this confrontation and went through with it anyway.

"Come on, can't you give the guy a break! He helped save Manhattan, for crying out loud! He's a hero!" Tony flipped up his helmet, glaring at Fury with his own eyes.

The man's smug expression did not change at all, nor did the calm, collected tempo of his voice.

"Haven't you changed your tune?"

Tony frowned.

"Or do you not remember that time I contacted you for help hunting down one Dr. Bruce Banner, a.k.a. the Hulk, and you were right there, consulting away? Maybe I can find a video feed for you, refresh your memory a bit."

It felt like an eon ago. Tony let out a shaky breath. He remembered it perfectly fine. Fury had explained the potential threat to him, explained that they needed to find a way to contain it, and Tony had helped.

Hell, that drop box of a cell on the helicarrier had been his design.

"I didn't know."

"Didn't know what, Stark?"

"I didn't know the man. I only knew the beast. You didn't give me enough variables to work with. I—"

"You knew perfectly well what you were working with."

"Call off the agents."

"I am just setting up a perimeter."

Tony clenched his fists. The repulsors glowed bright before they went dim again. He could see Fury's one good eye flicking down to them.

"He deserves some peace and quiet."

"Well, when he's off without any sort of protection, he's not exactly going to get that, now is he?"

There was no point in being here. He had a flight to arrange.


	8. Part I Chapter VIII: Persecution

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **Loki. Yes, that's also a warning. Asgardian justice. Also should be a warning.

**Author's Note: **I've actually been looking forward to this chapter.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART I: PUTTING THE WORLD BACK TOGETHER**

**CHAPTER VIII: PERSECUTION**

His very own room had been made into a cage. It used to be a place where he could go to escape it all, and now, now he could not escape it. It was a prison, despite what others might have said. Yes, he still had the lavish bed and other furniture and time to himself, but his books had all been removed, leaving the polished wooden shelves barren, his equipment confiscated, leaving the worn, well used tables defiled, all of his baubles from various expeditions around the Nine Realms taken, their cases hollow shells without them.

Was it worth it?

Loki had countless hours, days, to himself to think it over, to replay the entire situation in his mind's eye, step by step. His plan had been brilliant. The momentum of it was frightening, even to his own mind. It had come together so quickly, a rapid fire of one event leading seamlessly to the next.

And now he was free of his precarious arrangement with the Chitauri.

A small smile traced his pale lips.

The doors shuddered, a warning. Loki stood slowly, hand grazing the high back of the ornate chair. He watched the door with suspicious eyes, senses keenly tuned to the energy blanket which had been placed over his abode, dampening his magic severely. They knew, all too well, that he could make himself invisible to those he did not want to see him, and that a simple cage would be an ineffective one.

So far, he had received no visitors other than the frightened servants who had been burdened with delivering semi-regular meals. Even without his magic, they were cautious of him, skittish even. Fear was far more powerful than any of the tricks he might have played on them in the past, so he relished in it.

However, it was not his meal time. Loki could normally smell the food long before the servant arrived at his door. He could also hear his guards converse briefly with the servants, telling them to be wary, not that they needed the reminder.

The silence worried him. Loki schooled his features impassive, waiting as patiently as he could with his stance rigid, chin lifted in defiance. He did not look as regal or threatening without his armor, but it was a chore to don without his magic, so his fine black, green, and bronze tunic, leather pants and boots would have to do.

He still looked every part the shunned prince of Asgard. No one dared say otherwise.

The doors did not open, no one making an appearance. Loki remained where he was, still as the statues in the great hall, every muscle tense and ready for a confrontation. No confrontation came, though. The hall was drenched in silence and still once more.

Frowning, Loki went back into his thoughts; it was the only sort of escape he had anymore.

0

"Father, I—"

"You know, as well as all of Asgard, that his words are not to be trusted. Any turn of phrase we so much as utter in his presence can be twisted and used as leverage to topple the precarious sense of peace we have only now recovered."

Thor let out a huff of air, staring at the floor. He knew his father's wisdom and knew not to argue it, and yet, part of him was saying this was entirely unfair. Surely, there had to be some other way.

"Will we not at least hear him out?"

It was the Allfather's turn to sigh. "You are far too trusting of those who have done everything in their power to revoke that trust. Have you learned nothing?"

Thor finally looked up, face stern and composed, though his eyes were still rimmed with red. "I have learned much in the time I spent on Midgard, the greatest of those lessons being forgiveness."

The Allfather turned his head just slightly, enough that Thor knew he had his attention and would be able to speak uninterrupted.

"I have learned that anyone can be redeemed, if only given a chance. I have learned that even the worst of men can grow and become something more, if the right pressure is applied." Thor straightened his posture, feeling his strength of resolve growing. "The Midgardians I fought alongside against the Chitauri had not always been heroes. Some of them had even led less than noble lives before the invasion, but they overcame their pasts, and because of that, _they saved the world_."

Silence fell over the glittering rampart of the palace. Thor caught himself holding his breath as he waited. He flexed his hands at his side. He missed the familiar weight of Mjölnir in his hands or strapped securely at his side. It was much like what the Midgardians referred to as a safety-blanket.

Odin nodded slowly, though his expression was no less stern. "And you think _he_ is capable of such a reformation?"

Thor shifted. It was at times like this where he missed his ignorant confidence. "I… I do not know, but I would be willing to give him the chance."

"Ah, that is the problem, is it not? The people of Asgard thirst for blood. They do not even know of his true nature and already their minds are made up. They assume his guilt, and I believe that assumption to be correct."

"Would you truly sentence one of your own _sons_ to death?"

Odin closed his eye, but not fast enough. Thor could see the pain wrought on his face. The Allfather still considered Loki his son, despite it all, and if Thor had to drag that up again and again to save his brother from this ill fate, then he would.

"As simple as it would be to simply erase his stain upon Asgard by executing him…" Odin opened his eye again, and it was glossed with liquid, though no tears were shed. It was enough to know they were there. "The path of a true king is never easy. If only our people would understand that…"

"Father, are you—"

"In order to rebuild the Bifrost, we have need of one who is both keenly intelligent and versed in the arts of magic. Without the Bifrost, we cannot call on the aid of the others in the Nine Realms, so we must search our own gilded halls for such a person."

Loki.

A smile cracked his serious expression, splitting wide like the rising sun split the sky. It felt like the weight of a thousand Mjölnirs had been lifted off his shoulders to know that his brother's life was no longer in peril.

"Shall I break the news to him, then?"

"No." The Allfather lifted his hand to make Thor stay, so he remained where he was, though he shook with a joyous sort of anticipation. "Do not forget how delicate of a matter this is. Because of this, the decision must be made before our people, so that someday, our people might accept the decision."

Thor nodded slowly. His father always made wise decisions, even if he did not understand them at first. In time, he was certain he might understand this one as well.

"I respect your decision, Father, and ask for your leave." Thor crossed his arm over his chest, nodding in salute. He waited in that position, knowing there was more he had to say. "I wish to spend time with Sif and the Warriors Three. They know not of what transpired on Midgard since their last visit."

The Allfather nodded, dismissing him officially. Thor turned on his heel, going quickly before the decision could be revoked.

0

They came for him at dawn. Bright golden shafts of light slanted across the open air halls, cutting the sprawling mosaic floors into slivers of warmth and pitch black shadows. Even with the shackles securing his wrists and his magic, as well as that muzzle securing his silver tongue, he still felt infinitely freer than he had in his own chambers.

Loki took a deep breath through his nostrils, the air itself alive with the magic he had been starved of in his prison. He eyes fluttered shut for a moment, even as his feet continued on their course, in rank with the gold and yellow clad guards flanking his sides.

The escort was entirely for show. Yes, the men were armed and armored, but with the muzzle and the shackles, without even his usual daggers, there was very little he could do, not that he would admit to it. Instead, he kept his chin high, shoulders straight, gait flowing and graceful as ever. He would not let anyone think for even a moment that this was humiliating.

They rounded the last corner, the corridor dissolving into the wide open of the audience hall.

Everyone in Asgard must have been crammed into that space, each chattering and laughing and hollering, the massive space unable to swallow their collective noise. It reverberated in his core, making his next breath shakier than he wanted.

It was like the coronation ceremony all over again.

Loki tried swallowing his nerves, the lump in his throat remaining. He carefully schooled his features to impassive, gaze locking on the stairs before him.

Once again, Thor was going to be lauded as the great hero of Asgard, the golden son of Odin, and once more, Loki was going to be cast aside. This time, it was likely to be permanent.

He was not ready to die.

The guard started forward again, steps slower, solemn. It was a funeral march. It felt like an eon before his feet finally came under his control again, moving him forward. He needed to look up. He needed to meet those leering eyes with defiance, he needed to show just how well he was doing.

He could not look up.

They stopped just before the raised dais of the Allfather's throne, the guard fanning out around him. He stopped as well, finally pulling his gaze up.

Odin stood in all his glory above him, the scepter of Asgard's power and rule clutched in his weathered, wrinkled hand. Those hands were growing weak, growing tired. He could feel the fatigue hanging over Odin's shoulders like a great mantle, and a small smile pulled across his lips, hidden entirely by the muzzle.

The proceedings went exactly as he expected. The citizens of Asgard stepped forward one by one to plead with the Allfather, to tell their tales of being terrorized. Loki honestly could not remember even a small fraction of these people or the tricks he supposedly played on him, the words all becoming a blur of unintelligent sounds.

His gaze flicked to Thor, standing on the stairs next to their mother. Thor's mother. Loki looked down quickly again. Thor's expression was surprisingly free of emotion, though Frigga's was that of pain and worry. He was surprised she even managed to contain herself that much, considering what was displayed in her ever emotive eyes.

The Allfather rapped his scepter against the podium, silence traveling like a wave. Loki took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He would savor the air while he still could, all things considered. There had not been a single good tale about him, despite all the good he had done in his youth, before he knew of Odin's deception and lies.

"These acts, while distasteful, were not the acts of evil. They were mischief." The Allfather was quiet, but his voice carried, Loki feeling the power behind it, behind the projection. Did none of the Allfather's people recognize the obvious magic he used? Did they not realize the Allfather had been just as sorcerous as his rebellious adopted son?

Ah, but they did not know of his adoption, of the fact that the Allfather himself should have the petname of Liesmith just as much as he should, perhaps even more. Loki almost laughed, the muzzle the only thing which stopped it.

Here came his execution.

"Mischief is a far cry from chaos. Mischief can be controlled."

Loki looked up, a delicate black brow arched in question. The Allfather was staring straight at him now, that single good eye boring deeply. Loki stared straight back into it, refusing to give any ground.

"Without the Bifrost, the great people of Asgard cannot commute between the Nine Realms when there is dire need. Without the Bifrost, we are isolated, and all things in isolation wilt and fade to dust."

He frowned, hands fidgeting before him. He clasped them together quickly, knuckles turning a shade whiter with the force of his grip.

"As my son had a part in the destruction of the Bifrost, he should have a part in its reconstruction."

His eyes widened.

This was not a death sentence.

This was far, far from a death sentence.

Surely they wanted his blood? Surely they wanted him hung, disemboweled, for all to see and laugh at?

This was…

"I hereby sentence Loki, son of Odin… to servitude for the greater good of Asgard."

Hushed whispers rolled over the crowd. If the glares of the citizens were sharp like knives, he would be a mangled heap at this point. Beyond that, even.

The Allfather pounded his scepter down harder, the people hushing again.

This was not what they wanted.

The shackles unwound from his wrists, falling to the ground with a loud clatter. His muzzle retracted, joining it on the gilded floor. Loki reached up slowly, running his hands over his face. Magic pulsed through his veins, setting them afire with power. He took in a deep breath with his mouth, tasting the life of Asgard for the first time in what felt like forever.

"You will be under constant supervision and guard. You will work on the Bifrost and nothing but until its completion. Any use of magic resulting in ill effects upon another citizen of Asgard will be taken as an attack against the House of Odin, which carries the sentence of death."

Of course there was the possibility of death. Loki knew the people would have revolted otherwise. They never would have trusted the Allfather again, of that much Loki was certain, and he almost wished that line had been crossed.

It would have been more fun for him, at least.

Loki raised his right arm, crossing it over his chest. Slowly, he lowered himself to one knee, never breaking the Allfather's stare. "I _humbly_ accept my punishment and your kindness, Allfather."

Odin frowned, but thankfully did not resend his offer.

Perhaps this could be made into something.


	9. Part I Chapter IX: Dangerous Decisions

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **First off, language. Shit's getting real. Hahaha. Sorry. Violence. Dissention. Ethics issues. Tony Stark (still a warning).

**Author's Note: **Part I is almost over. Wow. It's kind of crazy thinking about that. Mind blown. Part I, as you may have noticed, was mostly setup. It's going to get a lot meatier really soon. Like Part 2. Oh the things I have planned for Part 2. I can't wait.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART I: PUTTING THE WORLD BACK TOGETHER**

**CHAPTER IX: DANGEROUS DECISIONS**

She pulled her phone out of her purse, punching the screen furiously. It was fifteen minutes into what was supposed to have been an official press conference on Stark Industries' clean power initiative, and all the reporters were starting to whisper things amongst themselves which were far from becoming and Tony wasn't there yet.

Tony knew full well about this press conference. He had actually had a hand in setting it up—that was a miracle in and of itself—and he wasn't here. It wasn't even early. Pepper glanced at her watch as she brought her phone up to her ear. It was four. In the afternoon. He was always up by four, if he'd even slept at all. There was no excuse for this.

The reporters were starting to notice her in the corner, crunched against a column like she could vanish in the shadows. She wished she could, with the looks and sneers she was getting.

She knew what they were thinking. It was always the same thing. That Tony was off with another woman. That he was sleeping around. Partying. Generally being a bad person. They didn't know. They couldn't. Tony had changed. He wasn't like that anymore. He had a purpose.

The line cut to Tony's answering machine. She wanted to throw her phone at the wall. When she needed to get a hold of him, he was nowhere to be found. He hadn't been that way for so long, she almost forgot how frustrating it was.

Taking three deep breaths, she dialed again. He had to pick up.

0

The phone vibrated next to his glass of scotch. Tony glanced down. He picked up the glass, taking a sip. It burned all the way down, settling like a stone in his stomach. He rolled the glass in his hand, watching the rich amber-mahogany liquid swirl around, clinging to the surfaces it touched.

Less than a minute after the phone stopped, it started again. Tony sighed, glancing down at it again. Pepper. Again.

Finally, Tony answered. "Yes, dear?"

"_Where are you? You have a press conference and everyone is—"_

"Pepper, deep breaths. Repeat after me: everything is fine. It is not the end of the world. You will survive. Actually, since you're repeating, say I, not you." Tony knocked back the last of his glass, sliding it to the edge of the table.

Pepper sighed and said something that sounded distinctly like a profanity. Normally that would have made Tony laugh or make fun of her, but this wasn't normally. Then again, what was normal anymore? After the whole alien shenanigans, he wasn't entirely sure.

"_Tony, the press conference started twenty minutes ago!"_

"I still don't get this concept. It's my press conference. How can it start before I get there?"

"_Because you scheduled it for today! Where are you?"_

He could tell she was whisper yelling, and he knew exactly what that meant. She was at the press conference. Probably wearing that little black dress of hers with matching heels. He couldn't remember if he'd gotten that one for her birthday or not. It was very tasteful, so it was likely.

"Pepper—"

"_Tony, you promised me this kind of stuff wasn't going to happen anymore."_

"Pep, this is…" Tony sighed, lowering his head with a frown. She couldn't see him, but it was likely she'd be able to hear it. "Pep, this is different. I have to do this. I'm sorry."

"_Tony… Promise me you aren't doing something regrettable."_

His mouth was suddenly very dry. Tony held up his glass, waving it until one of his stewardesses came over to grab it and hopefully get him a refill. He glanced out the window, searching for something, anything, that could serve as a distraction. Ocean and clouds sprawled out beneath his private jet. Nothing. He sighed.

"I can't do that."

"_Look, I can call off the press conference, and if they try arguing with me, I'll shut them down, like usual. Just… call me, okay? I just want to make sure you're alive and not—"_

"Yeah, I know." Tony gave a small, forced smile as his glass was put back down, more scotch in it. He took a thick gulp. "I'll let you know exactly what's going on as soon as I know what _that_ is."

There was another long pause; Tony could hear the murmur of a crowd on the other line, though it was muffled. He could imagine exactly where Pepper would be half-hiding and half-watching the throng of sharks—media, he meant—gathered for his announcement.

"_This is about Dr. Banner, isn't it?"_

His hand shook on his glass. He set it down slowly. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. No words could. What would he tell her?

"_Just… be careful, Tony. I know that's a hard thing for you, but at least try."_

"Look, Bruce isn't—"

"_I wasn't talking about him. I was talking about whatever you are trying to save him from."_

Tony squeezed his eyes, rubbing his free hand over them. Pepper knew him too well. It took another moment before he could answer her. "I will."

Pepper whispered a quiet thank you before hanging up. He lowered the phone slowly before letting it drop to the table. It bounced a few times then settled. The stewardess was back, but he didn't hear her, waving her off after a moment.

The pilot came on the intercom. They were coming around for landing. Tony stood, pulling his briefcase suit out from beneath the table.

He was as ready as he could be.

0

There was not much to pack. He always kept his bag ready, in case he had to go. Bruce shoved the last of his books in the top, tugging the zipper hard to close it up. Everything fit. He hefted it, slinging the strap over his shoulder.

It was dark outside, so black the air looked like it'd been smothered with ink. Bruce ducked out of the door, walking swiftly across the mix of crushed stones and mud. It'd rained the night before and the night before that, and while he didn't like the idea of traveling at night during a new moon, without light, he didn't have a choice.

He'd stayed too long already.

Bruce turned sharply at the last building, onto the hard packed dirt road. It would lead him straight towards the Mexico-Guatemala border. There weren't any big cities out there, just tiny villages and ruins of the Mayan civilization.

It didn't feel like far enough away.

He could just go the other way, back to civilization. He took a deep breath, two, three, counting his heart rate with two fingers pressed to his wrist. Slow and steady. He would be fine. Bruce kept walking.

Sweat trickled down from his hair line. He laced his fingers up through his hair, arms up. The air circulation felt a little better, but his shirt was already clinging to him. Puddles littered the road and he couldn't see them in the blackness.

This probably wasn't safe. But that was for everyone else. He knew he couldn't die. Other people, normal people, weren't so lucky though. Luck. Right. Bruce kept walking.

There were lights ahead.

Bruce slowed, stopped. He lowered his hands, frowning. The villages weren't marked on any of the maps, but the locals told him it was a day's hike at least. Bruce pulled up his canteen, taking a long draw from it. Screwing the cap back on, he let it slap back down against his side.

A light turned towards him.

0

He braced against the exposed frame of the jeep as they hit a rather large rut, half jumping out of the seat. There weren't seatbelts, not that he wore one often. It wasn't really his style. Unless he was on an out of repair back road in the jungle in the middle of the night, going as fast as the engine would let them. That fit the bill, but still no seat belt.

Thankfully his briefcase was heavy enough to keep him in place for the most part.

Tony lifted his phone, frowning. The signal from the chip in Banner's card wasn't too far off. They were closing quickly. Tony tapped a few buttons on the screen, immediately regretting it as they hit another bump. He reached up, gripping the steel frame hard.

They passed another village, nothing more than a few shacks in a half-kept clearing. Tony glanced over while the headlights gave him some view of it, frowning. This was exactly the sort of place Bruce was known to hide out in, but the signal was still further out. It had been moving, albeit slowly, when he got off the plane, but now it was still.

Maybe there was another village.

Lights. Bright, unnatural lights. Tony reached over, grabbing the driver's arm hard. The man slowed, stopped, and shut of the headlights.

That wasn't a sleepy village. It looked like a miniature military base.

Tony jumped out of the jeep, dragging the briefcase with him. It was heavy in his hand, but that weight was more than a little reassuring. He walked quickly, sneakers quiet on the packed dirt. He could hear talking, if only faintly, getting closer. He strained to listen, holding his breath.

"Why can't you just leave me alone!"

Bruce.

Tony broke into a sprint.

The metallic slide of guns cocking echoed in the oppressive silence.

There wasn't time.

Tony dropped the case, pressing the button on his phone. With a hiss, it unfurled. He bent, lacing his hands through the grips and pulling hard. Cold metal curled around his arms, flipping out over his torso. Like a wave, metal covered him, locking securely in place.

The moment the helmet snapped into place, the HUD flared to life and Tony activated the thrusters.

He flew in a crimson and gold streak, stabilizers pulsing as he dodged between trees. He pushed faster, gritting his teeth.

At the last moment, he deployed all flaps and cut power, landing with a thud in the middle of the clearing.

All guns swiveled. People yelled. Tony straightened. The shoulder flaps opened, miniaturized missile pods rising with them. The HUD registered faces, pulling up one S.H.I.E.L.D. agent file after another.

He'd found the team.

"Tony, what are you—"

"Mr. Stark, I suggest you stand down—"

"Yeah, how about no?" Tony raised his palms, aiming each in a different direction. The missiles armed, lighting up red in warning. "What the hell are you guys doing here?"

"Protecting our interests."

"Like hell you are." Tony grated the words out. His arms shook, hidden by his armor. "Drop your guns, or I shoot."

"Mr. Stark, I don't believe—"

"Tony, you don't—"

"Drop them!" Tony brought up the missile pods on his left arm as well, their clicking red the moment they were raised.

Slowly, the agents lowered their guns. They fell to the ground with a clatter. Tony didn't disarm his weapons.

"Do you trust me?" Tony glanced over his shoulder, HUD focusing on Bruce's face. Sweat ran in little streams along the dip of his cheekbone, sliding down the line of his jaw. His normally brown eyes were flecked with green. He could see the vein at his temple absolutely throbbing. His heart must have been going a million miles an hour.

Bruce looked down for a moment, mouth moving, but no words coming out. He finally ran a hand back through his hair, pushing it back like he could see better. Tony smiled beneath his mask.

"Yeah."

"Then hold on. I'm getting you out of here."

He offered a hand out. This time, Bruce took it.


	10. Part I Chapter X: Putting the World Back

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **Surprising…. I can't think of any.

**Author's Note: **The last chapter of part 1. Yup. This is it. I'm also working at a comic expo this weekend. Get to see Stan Lee and a ton of comic book artists and some stars. No big. Hahahaha. It's going to be awesome and crazy busy, so I'm sorry if I don't update much this weekend.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART I: PUTTING THE WORLD BACK TOGETHER**

**CHAPTER X: PUTTING THE WORLD BACK TOGETHER**

The press conference went without a hitch. Tony had a stack of note cards with him, and for five minutes, he actually discussed the points on them. That had to be some sort of record. And then, when he went off the note cards, he kept on topic.

Of course the press asked how he and Pepper were doing. He smiled, looking down, and told them to get back on topic. Someone else asked about alleged reports of Iron Man sightings in Central America. Tony laughed, adding a "that's cute" before moving on again.

It was official. All Stark Industries facilities in the United States were going to be converted over to arc reactor power. He also announced to the press conference that the state of New York and Stark Industries were currently in negotiations over a power contract for Manhattan, since a good chunk of it had been running on said arc reactor during all the repairs.

His (least) favorite blond reporter was there, too, and she asked why he hadn't been seen out with a whole plethora of scantily clad women lately.

That was the last question he was going to deal with. Tony leaned forward, mouth almost on the microphone as he gave his answer. "People change."

He winked, for good measure, and called it to an end, watching as the sharks all swam off to find other blood in the sea. That just left three of them in the room, Tony up on the little stage, Dr. Banner over by the windows, arms crossed over his chest protectively, and Pepper, also in the back, but by one of the columns, like usual.

She started forward immediately, glancing back over her shoulder at the doctor once. Tony braced himself, fingers strumming the sides of the podium as he tried to read her expression. It was impossible.

"I wanted to congratulate you." Pepper broke out into a full smile, its lighting up her own face. Tony let out a sigh of relief and sagged against the podium with a chuckle. He'd thought she was going to slap him for a moment there. It wouldn't be the first time. "That was the best press conference I've ever seen you give."

"Well, I, uh, had an audience." Tony laughed again, but this one was forced. He couldn't look up, especially when he saw Pepper glance over her shoulder in his periphery.

Pepper shook her head. "I was being serious. You actually addressed all the points and kept on topic and I won't have to do PR cleanup for the next month straight."

"I was, too." Tony mumbled those words then cleared his throat, straightening. "Can we keep him?"

"Tony, the last time you asked that—"

"And she turned out to be a great assistant. And a super assassin who was spying on me, but still a _great_ assistant." Tony looked at her pointedly, trying to frown, but he couldn't. Bruce was still standing back by the windows, one spoke of his glasses hanging from his mouth, hands fiddling with the other one as he stared out at who knew what. "He's house trained."

Pepper burst out laughing now, snorting near the end. She covered his face with a blush, wrapping an arm around her trim middle. "Okay, okay, yes, you can keep him. Where is he going to stay?"

"The remodels are all done on the Tower, right? 'Cause if they are… I kind of designed a whole floor for him."

"Tony!" Pepper was still smiling, so that was good. "Well, let's go then. I'm sure you two will want to play on R&D floors when we get back." She rolled her eyes, before turning on a black polished heel and striding back to where Bruce was.

She offered a hand out, smiling as she formally introduced herself. They shook hands. Bruce shot him a glance at something Pepper said, so Tony just shrugged, pointing up at his ear to indicate he couldn't hear them.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he headed down there, shuffling like a schoolboy.

Everything was going to be all right now.


	11. Part II Chapter I: Welcome Home

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **Men liking other men. Better known as Stanner or Truce or ScienceBoyfriends.

**Author's Note: **This weekend was the big comic expo with Stan Lee and all, soooooo, I'm dead exhausted but I am determined to catch up with my wordcount. Also, welcome to Part 2.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART II: SOMETHING WORTH AVENGING**

**CHAPTER I: WELCOME HOME**

A car was waiting for them at the airport. It wasn't his usual driver, but he was okay with that. He was driving the car Pepper was in. Tony felt it was better that way. While he held the door for Pep, Tony held the door for Bruce, smiling when the doctor looked a little uncomfortable.

Everything was back to normal.

Tony hopped in the car behind him, slamming the door shut. He gave a little wave to the driver and they were off. Bruce buckled his seatbelt. Tony just slouched back in his seat, fingers drumming on his thighs. No particular melody, just something to keep his fingers occupied.

"Where are we going?"

Tony glanced up, looking over the top of his sunglasses. He smiled. "The Tower." He leaned across the seat, smile only growing. "It has changed a _lot_ since the last time you were there."

Bruce tried to smile back, but it was only half of one. The way his shoulders were rolled, posture absolutely horrible, Tony knew he wasn't liking the attention. He wasn't exactly the type to back down, though.

"I think you'll like what you see."

Finally, Bruce glanced up. He nodded, then retracted into his shell again. Great.

"You still haven't seen Candyland."

"Tony, you know—"

"Yeah, I do. And I thought about the Other Guy while you were away. Trust me."

That look, sharp, sudden, eyebrows drawn in, Tony knew that sort of look. Bruce wanted to trust him. It made him beam even harder, if that was possible. His mouth was probably going to be sore from smiling so much. He hadn't smiled this much in what felt like ages. Maybe he'd never smiled this much before. That was a serious possibility.

"I'm not asking you to stay forever." Tony took in a deep breath, turning to face forward in his seat. New York City flew by them in a blur. The people walking on the street did, at least. Traffic was miserable. "I'm just asking… for you to give me a chance."

Bruce took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. He pulled his glasses out of his shirt pocket, polishing them slowly, thoughtfully. Tony had to remind himself not to stare.

"Okay."

That was good enough for him.

0

Maybe it was all the years out at the brink of civilization, maybe it was the Other Guy, lurking in the back of his consciousness, biding his time, or maybe it was his general dislike for confined spaces, but he really hated elevators. Especially the elevator in Stark Tower. It felt like they were going up forever.

Tony seemed perfectly comfortable, which was not helping. He was in another of his no doubt countless posh suits, hands in his pockets, a small smile pulling at his lips. He glanced over now and then, that smile growing in those moments.

Bruce was not sure what to think of it, of this, any of it yet. He took a deep breath, counting down. Though it was just the two of them in the elevator, it felt crowded.

The elevator stopped suddenly. Bruce frowned, looking at the number. They were still a while below the R&D floors. This was a private elevator, so it couldn't be someone else getting on. He glanced over at Tony. The man was rocking back and forth on his feet, looking like he was fighting not to grin.

The doors opened, Bruce forcing himself to look out.

Everything beyond the door had been done in muted, earth tones, so different from the sleek lines and metal and glass of the rest of the tower. Bruce took a step out slowly, letting his eyes roam.

The hallway was tall and wide, spacious, airy even. Bruce ran his hand over the wall. It almost felt like plaster. He smiled despite himself, shoes clicking on the stone floor as he explored.

He opened the first door he came to. It was oversized, sturdy and wooden. Bruce peeked inside. There was a lab, still decorated in the same earthen tones, but with brand new equipment and a few black work tables. It looked completely unused, though there was no dust. Bruce closed the door gently, glancing back.

Tony stood just outside the elevator, staring at him expectantly.

Bruce didn't know what to say, so he kept looking around, opening the next door. It was a bedroom, with a big bed and tables and armoires for clothing, open and empty, and a bookshelf, also empty, and a large closet. Bruce glanced over his shoulder, then back in again. His bag was on the bed.

This space was made for him.

He backed out of the room, leaving this door open. The hallway curved to the side, and opened up into a round living space, complete with plush couches and a television, currently dark. Connected to it, open air, was a kitchen.

Bruce edged around the space, running a hand over the tiled kitchen counter. The space reminded him of Morocco; it was like a trip to a place far away, miraculously hidden in the most technologically advanced buildings in the United States.

A massive steel door loomed around the next corner. It looked starkly out of place, Bruce pausing when he saw it. It made him nervous. Bruce approached it slowly, hand shaking as he touched the doorknob. Counting to three, Bruce yanked the door open.

The room was huge, completely round and bare. He stepped inside, pressing his hand to the wall. The material felt strong, but had some give, Bruce frowning. He was not sure what it was made of, but he didn't pull at any of the panels to see.

This space was for the _other guy_.

Bruce swallowed at the lump in his throat, leaning his head against the wall. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and then another. It wasn't that he needed to calm himself. Or maybe it was, but not in the other guy was about to break loose sort of way.

Tony said he had been thinking about both of them.

A shadow fell across him, Bruce looking up.

Tony stood in the doorway, hands still in his pockets. His face was completely serious, but those eyes—Bruce wasn't sure how he felt about those, either, because his eyes were like an open book, and Bruce wasn't sure how to interpret what he was reading—were warm and worried. Bruce let out a small, nervous laugh.

"Do you like it?" Tony whispered the words, but they were loud in the quiet of the floor. He took a step forward, the smile he tried to put on wobbling. "The whole floor is yours. If you don't want any visitors, you have the permissions to lock them out. Including me."

Bruce straightened up, running a hand down his dress shirt. He felt grimy. He still hadn't showered or changed since leaving the Yucatan, and he felt sorely out of place in this nice, new place.

This was _his_ though. Tony had made this all for him.

"Thank you." Bruce breathed the words, trying to return that smile but failing just as badly. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down.

"My penthouse is a few floors up if you need anything."

Tony turned to go.

"Wait."

He paused, not swiveling, though he glanced over.

Now Bruce had to say something. He looked around, trying to find something, but the barren room around him offered nothing.

"I, uh… You're just leaving me here?"

Tony shrugged. "I figured you were tired, wanted to freshen up, after that whole… _fiasco_. Just call me if you need anything, or head upstairs."

Bruce frowned. "I don't have a phone. And didn't you need a badge to use the elevator?"

"Yeah, about that, there's a phone like mine in the bedside table, along with all the security badges you might need." Tony flashed his usual smile again. It actually put Bruce at ease this time. "Oh, and I put a full map of the Tower in there, too, in case you wanted to explore some more."

"Thanks."

"Don't worry about it." Tony nodded and headed off, vanishing back into the elevator.

For the first time in years, he felt like he was actually _home_.


	12. Part II Chapter II: Ticking

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **Dark themes, psychological trauma, political strife, spy stuff.

**Author's Note:**

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART II: SOMETHING WORTH AVENGING**

**CHAPTER II: TICKING**

There were no papers in the room. Clint sat slowly, lowering himself into the chair carefully, as though that might disappear, too. The metal table was clean, nothing on it. It was probably sterile enough to do open heart surgery on. That only made him more nervous.

The camera whirred, scanning the room.

He tried to release the tension from his muscles, concentrating on each group, on trying to relax them one by one. The process was slow, agonizing, and he felt none of the ease he was trying to portray. He schooled his features carefully to a look of boredom, drumming his fingers on his thighs to complete the look.

The clock on the wall, sharp digital numbers, were the only sign of time passing.

It was an hour before the door finally opened.

Clint glanced over his shoulder, immediately sitting up straighter.

Director Fury strode over, black suit formal, though it was offset by the turtleneck he wore off it, making it seem like a far-stretched business casual. He sat across from Clint, resting his elbows on the table.

If Fury was angry, his body language hid it well. Either that, or Clint was getting rusty.

"How are you hangin' in there?"

Clint bobbed his head from side to side, not a yes or a no. "Do you want an honest answer, Sir?"

Fury cracked a smile, leaning back comfortably. "Yeah, why not?"

"I don't like being grounded. I should be out there, in the world, picking up the pieces like everyone else."

"Mhmm." Fury nodded, putting an arm up on the back of his chair. The tension was entirely gone from the man. Clint didn't think he could fake it that well. "Go on."

"The tests are damn boring, as well."

"Good. I'd hate to think you were getting used to them."

"Sir?"

"I'm reinstating you, Agent Barton. No more boring tests. For now, at least."

Clint sighed.

"Don't give me that. I've got to look out for my own, and that includes you. I wanted to make sure everything was okay before I sent you back into action."

"Thank you, Sir, but I believe—"

"Better safe than sorry."

"Yes, Sir." Clint let out a shaky breath. After all this time, he was finally being let back in. It felt unreal. "Do you have orders for me?"

"Other than picking up one Agent Romanoff from the airport? No."

Tasha. Clint smiled, but quickly hid it behind his mask again. "When?"

"How about right now." Fury stood, leading the way to the door. He opened it, holding it so for Clint. It was a clear message. Fury was letting him out, but if anything went wrong, he'd be the one to put him back in.

Clint stood, walking swiftly—but not too quickly—for the door.

It felt good to have orders again.

0

They didn't talk on the way back to HQ. That was fine. It was a comfortable sort of silence. She was happy to see him out and about. He seemed happy to be out and about. That was enough for now.

There was too much going through her head. For the most part, the meetings she sat in one were mind numbing, but she had to pay attention, to keep sharp, as a sea of languages swam around her. Every so often, she would hear something else, the inflection on a word, the sharpness of someone's posture, the tightness of words, which eluded to fear.

Everyone feared the unknown. That was part of human nature. The problem was elsewhere.

If she spoke about it now, she felt like she would lose it all. The hours of observations and carefully filed notes were stored in her brain, like a bottle full of water, and if she took out the cork, they would all spill out.

Silence was preferable. It was safe.

Clint turned right instead of left. Natasha sat up, glancing over. His eyes were dark, keen, alert, features relaxed. She sank back into her seat again, pursing her red painted lips. It wasn't in her nature to stop worrying, but… Clint had been compromised. Director Fury wouldn't let him around other agents if there was any fear that her cognitive recalibration hadn't worked, but it just wasn't her nature to relax about these things.

Manhattan vanished around them as Clint pulled the car into the Stark Industries parking garage. She had seen the space before, but not with so many S.H.I.E.L.D. cars. They spiraled downward, until Clint pulled into a marked parking spot. The whole floor was for S.H.I.E.L.D..

Natasha stepped out slowly, shouldering her bag. Clint led the way to the elevator, holding it open for her. She stepped in, standing as still as she could in four inch heels. It was still remarkably still, a lot more so than Clint was standing, at least.

"This is the first time they let you out, isn't it?"

Clint looked down sharply. She knew that was a yes.

"How does it feel?"

Clint shifted, glancing up. His hands were fidgeting. They probably had not even let him touch his bow. It was heartbreaking, in a way, if she had a heart left to break.

The silence stretched on, even though there was a whole conversation through their tiniest movements. She could feel it, and it was comfortable. Natasha was never let out. She was always on an assignment, filling a role, being someone _else_ and she knew Clint understood that.

The same went for Clint. This was probably an assignment for him, as well. They were never really let out. It didn't work that way at S.H.I.E.L.D.. It was what they were used to. Anything else would be a lie.

Sometimes silence spoke louder than words.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a world both familiar and alien beyond. It was a S.H.I.E.L.D. command floor. She knew them well. What was so startling was the fact that from the view of Manhattan, they had to be inside the Stark Tower.

Clint gave her a small, encouraging smile and stepped out. Natasha followed quickly, keeping the surprise off her face more than the slight crease of her brows.

Stark was self-centered and loathed authority. She had to worry if he was letting S.H.I.E.L.D. relocate their home base into his monument to himself.

"How did Director Fury bargain for this?" Natasha sped up, heels clicking on the smooth, hard floors. She easily fell into pace with Clint.

"I have _no_ idea."

She filed away the information for later. She did not have time to ask for more details, as soon enough, they were standing in front of the Director's office. When the receptionist showed her in, Clint said a quick good bye and left.

It was time to tell the Director everything, from the fact that everyone was still a little shocked over the fact that aliens had attacked Earth, to the fact that everyone was afraid, not of the unknown, but of the known, of the fact that there were "super" humans out there, fighting on the side of an organization everyone believed to be solely with America.

America had power, too much power in their minds, and, inevitably, power corrupts.


	13. Part II Chapter III: Forced

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **Dark themes, deep stuff, me writing Asgardian stuff, hints of homosexuality, the usual.

**Author's Note: **This is one of those big moments. When I hit this point in the outline I just had to lean back and stare at the page for a moment. I love when stories pack surprises like this. (and sorry about not doing an author's note on the last chapter. I was kind of rushing?) Also, while writing this chapter, another surprise, not the one above, hit me like a pile of bricks. So awesome.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART II: SOMETHING WORTH AVENGING**

**CHAPTER III: FORCED**

Diagrams covered every flat surface of the room, pinned downs with the instruments he had been allowed. There were not many, but they would suffice. The larger diagrams were hung on the walls, globes of light suspended to cast a golden glow over them. Suspended in the middle of the room was a three-dimensional diagram, crafted through magic, just the inner workings of the Bifrost in golden lines like a shimmering web.

Loki circled the stripped representation slowly, an arm crossed over him, other elbow on that arm. He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on his chin as he surveyed the display from all sides slowly. His movements were predatory, gaze focused, ready for the kill. His muscles were taut, ready.

A throat being cleared at his door broke his train of concentration. Loki spun with a frown, the diagram dissolving into the air.

Thor, of all Aesir, stood in his doorway, those lost blue eyes of his full of questions for once. Loki's frown deepened, brows creasing.

"And to what do I owe the _honor_ of your presence?" Loki flourished a bow, flicking his arm to the side extravagantly.

All this time, and Thor had not even come by once. It was surprising, though also thankful. Loki knew he would not be able to concentrate with his b—with Thor—coming around when-so-ever it pleased him. For a fleeting moment, he had thought, albeit hopefully, that Thor had forgotten his very existence.

Thor glanced at the guards on either side of the door. They stood at attention, stoic, unmoving. During their shift, they had done nothing but look like statues. Loki wondered what it would take to make them flinch, but every time such an urge came to test it, he reminded himself of the Allfather's threat.

"I came to see if you needed as assistance."

"And what, _exactly_, would you assist me with?"

"Please do not belittle me, brother."

Loki tisked, rolling his eyes. After everything he had done, after everything Loki had put Thor through, he still insisted they were brothers. Loki turned away, weaving the diagram again from memory. If he wanted to reconstruct the Bifrost mechanism, he needed to know the diagram more intimately than his own hands.

"If there is anything I can do—"

"Leave. That is what you can do." Loki closed his eyes, jaw clenched. He took a deep breath, leg moving though he did not stalk out. He was only allowed to leave for meals, official meetings, bodily functions, and whenever the Allfather summoned him. Wanting to escape Thor was sadly not on the list. At the next official meeting, he would have to bring that up.

"Please, I am not as simple of mind as you seem to assume."

"Really?" Loki swiveled, the golden strands of magic making the main frame shaking with the rage building in his chest. "If you were even half as intelligent as that Midgardian, the metal man, then I would accept. I would gladly accept, because with that sort of wit, this project would be done in a Midgardian month rather than the _years_ this will likely take with only my own mind to power it!"

Thor turned, striding out. Not a glance, not a single rebuttal, only that look of hurt, like a kicked pet.

Loki spun around again, slamming his arm through the diagram. It exploded in golden sparks, showering him, the floor, the table near at hand. The light flickered out, leaving just those globes and the controlled blazes framing his door.

The guards did not even flinch.

Sighing, he set back to work.

0

The debriefing had only taken two hours, a record since she had gotten involved with the Avengers Initiative, but it was one of the roughest. The weight of protecting the world was solely on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s shoulders, and the rest of the world was only making it worse.

Clint sat on the stool next to her, setting an unopened beer in front of her. He nodded at it, offering a bottle opener. "Looks like you could use it."

Natasha smiled faintly, popping the top off with the hook on her bracelet. He shrugged, tossing the opener to the side. She was still in her secretarial attire, but it wasn't all looks. It was never all looks. She took a long swig, setting the bottle down.

"What happened?"

She took another long swig, cradling the bottle in her hand. Asahi Extra Dry. It fit. It would be enough to take a little bit of the edge off, if nothing more.

"Rather than thanking us, the rest of the world wants to put sanctions on us." She rolled the bottle, watching the light play through the glass and liquid. "It's like the whole Iron Man fiasco all over again."

Clint grunted, taking a drink of his own beer. It had been between the two of them, who would be sent into Stark Industries as a shadow. Because of Stark's history with women, they chose Natasha and sent Clint to New Mexico, but he still knew all the details. Most of S.H.I.E.L.D. did. Stark had been a huge liability, a risk, ever since he escaped the Afghan desert.

"The world wasn't ready."

Natasha frowned, glancing over.

"Super powers. Aliens. Come on. The world is still warring over religion. They weren't ready to know that there was something else out there." Clint knocked back the last of his beer, setting it down. He stretched his hands, knuckles popping loudly. Natasha could see little pink grooves on three of the fingers on his left hand. He'd been in the shooting range.

Natasha tossed back the last of her bottle, putting with his. She wished he'd brought more. Then again, this was Stark's tower. There was bound to be alcohol everywhere.

"Asgard didn't give us a choice."

Clint hung his head, making a small motion with his hands. Natasha smiled, a little warmer this time. She knew that motion.

"We just have to deal with what we have."

"That's what we were trained for." Clint stood, giving a little nod. "Speaking of which, I have training to get caught up on." He turned to go.

"Give me a minute, and I'll be right down." Natasha stood as well, already starting to unbutton her shirt. She kicked off her heels, leaving them at the kitchen bar. "Where is the training center, anyway?"

Clint smiled, looking away politely. They'd been on countless missions together, had seen one another in various stages of undress, and he still looked away. It was cute, if unneeded.

"I'll wait for you, right here."

"Good." Natasha pulled off her shirt as she walked down the hall, disappearing into her room.

It would be good to be training with Clint. It was familiar, even if the world would never be normal again.


	14. Part II Chapter IV: Simple Equations

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **homosexuality, science nerds at work, Stanner, deep shit (which was supposed to be in the last chapter, but I totally flubbed that conversation)

**Author's Note: **Got in a car crash, forgot to take my power cord to work, the sole of my favorite pair of boots broke. So yeah. I wrote most of this by hand today trying to find something to distract me from the shitstorm of my life.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART II: SOMETHING WORTH AVENGING**

**CHAPTER IV: SIMPLE EQUATIONS**

It was still a little strange having so many spectacular people in the Stark Tower at any given time. These were superheroes. Pepper was just used to Tony, and he was a handful on his own, but now there were six more!

The bottom floor of the penthouse had become a common area of sorts, the kitchen she and Tony (rather, his chef) used now had others there, too, though each of the Avengers had their own kitchens on their respective floors. It created a sense of community. Pepper was excited by it and still a little surprised.

This time, Steve Rogers was in the kitchen, sitting on a stool eating a bowl of pasta. Pepper smiled and gave him a small hello, to which he responded, "Good afternoon, ma'am." She wished he would teach Tony some of his manners! Fighting not to blush, Pepper opened the fridge, bending awkwardly in her business skirt to grab two sodas and the pizza she had ordered earlier for the boys.

It was still untouched.

"Captain—"

"Steve is just fine, ma'am."

"Okay, Steve, um, how long have Tony and Dr. Banner been in the lab?"

"I haven't seen them today, Miss Potts. Do you want me to check on them?"

Pepper half-frowned. This was entirely to be expected. Tony had a shiny new toy—Dr. Banner, though she doubted he would be okay with being called that—and he wouldn't stop playing with it until forced. It was about time she forced the matter.

"Jarvis?"

"_Yes, Pepper?"_

"How long has Tony been in the lab?"

"_Approximately seven hours."_

Pepper sighed. It was definitely time to force the matter. "Have they taken any breaks?"

"_No, they have not. If they were not still alive, I would hypothesize that they have not even taken a moment to breathe."_

"Thank you, Jarvis." Pepper rolled her eyes, awkwardly juggling the box and sodas so she could carry them all at once. "Where exactly are they?"

"_Currently, they are in Mr. Stark's workshop."_

Hefting everything, Pepper rounded the counter, heading for the elevator. Steve had gone back to eating, though he kept glancing at her like she was about to topple over. That was probably an accurate assessment, though she managed to smack her security badge against the reader with her elbow.

The workshop was the very top level of R&D, with roof access, though Tony promised he wouldn't go up there without a fully flight tested suit on (she'd made Jarvis promise to lock the door if he wasn't wearing one, just to be safe). It was a long elevator ride, especially from the lobby (thankfully she wasn't all the way down there), but soon enough, she was at the workshop.

Tony and Bruce were bent over one of the work stations, going through some project or another on a glass screen. Paper schematics littered every flat surface and many holographic diagrams floated in the air all around them. Though they were talking, Pepper didn't even understand 12% of it. They were both grinning, though (Dr. Banner's was closer to a shy smile, but that might as well have been grinning for him, as reserved as he was) so it must have been interesting.

"Knock, knock." Pepper ducked under a glowing diagram of Tony's latest arc reactor, skirting around a table covered in what looked like plans for a new suit. She held up the box and bottles expectantly.

They looked up in unison. Dr. Banner immediately side stepped so their shoulders weren't touching, looking down. She quirked an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

"You brought food?"

"Yes, Tony, I brought food. I got this for you guys almost four hours ago."

"Oh." Tony frowned, running a hand up through his hair. "What time is it?"

"_It is 5:32 p.m. currently, Sir."_ Jarvis chimed in, thankfully. Pepper was sure she'd drop everything if she tried to look at her watch.

"Wow." Dr. Banner took off his glasses, polishing them slowly. "I am really sorry, Miss Potts. We, uh, got distracted—"

"This man," Tony pointed in the general direction of Dr. Banner before grabbing the box and bottles, "is an absolutely genius. I could pick his brain for days and only hit the tip of the iceberg, seriously."

Tony shoved a stack of papers aside, plopping the box down. He tossed a soda to Dr. Banner, which he fumbled three times before actually catching it. Pepper covered her mouth to hide her smile, though from the way Dr. Banner quickly looked away, she knew he saw it.

"So, what's up?" Tony hopped up on the counter, taking a huge bite of cold pizza.

Pepper held out her hands to the side, shaking her head. "I just haven't really seen you in a while."

Tony grunted, taking another massive bite. He must have been really hungry, but when he was in science mode, the rest of the world vanished. Pepper tried to smile again, but it didn't quite work.

"It's my fault, I'm sorry. We got talking and lost track of time." Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor.

They really were a strange duo. Tony was loud, obnoxious, self-obsessed, unapologetic (she still loved him—most of the time). Dr. Banner was the exact opposite. He was awkward and self-conscious and seemed to be worried all the time. Where Tony ran around like a maniac, Dr. Banner had the calm of a deep, still lake.

She was surprised Tony hadn't driven Dr. Banner crazy yet.

Speaking of which, Dr. Banner was staring at her, the worry entirely too apparent on his face.

Pepper laughed. It was breathy and stilted but enough that Tony didn't seem to notice. She waved a hand, trying her hardest to keep up the happy impression. "Don't worry, this isn't anything new. He can't get into much trouble up here, at least." She bit her lip, trying to stop her nervous chatter but failing. "Just make sure he eats and sleeps and I won't mind."

Dr. Banner looked like he was about to say something, maybe even argue with her, but she shook her head.

"I'll do that."

"Thank you, Dr. Banner." Pepper leaned over, placing a possessive kiss on Tony's cheek. Dr. Banner turned away, shuffling papers. Tony didn't respond at all, chewing away at his pizza. He opened his soda, chugging half of it before taking another slice.

Sighing, Pepper turned, heading out. She had more important things to do than babysit anyway, like practically running the company Tony had conveniently forgotten about again.

0

Bruce took off his glasses, rubbing the palm of his hand into his eyes. It was late. That was probably an understatement. He glanced out the window. At some point, the sun had gone down. Tony showed no sign of slowing down, regardless, mouth at terminal velocity and brain no doubt going even faster.

He grabbed his mug of coffee, downing the last of it. One of the workshop's resident robots wheeled over with the half-full pot to offer him a refill. Bruce waved it off, putting his glasses back on.

The screen was a sea of swimming numbers and lines which might have been equations an hour ago. This wasn't going to work.

"Tony…"

Tony stopped suddenly, finally looking up. He was practically grinning from ear to ear. In the short time Bruce had known him, he knew the man didn't smile much, unless it was for a camera or sarcastic. This looked like neither.

"Tony, we should probably go to bed."

Tony choked on his coffee, swallowing roughly after smacking his chest twice.

That was probably the wrong choice of words. Bruce let out a shaky breath, shifting slightly away. Their sides had practically been smashed together for a greater part of the day as Tony ran him through all the computer systems and their applications. It wasn't uncomfortable, other than the fact that people shouldn't be that close to him. No one else wanted to be that close to him.

"Miss Potts said I should make sure you actually sleep." Bruce smiled awkwardly. He wasn't sure how he felt about Tony staring at him so intensely.

"You can call her Pepper. I'm sure she wouldn't mind." Tony pushed the screen aside, leaning on the counter to face him. He was nonchalant about everything. It was like the whole world was easy for him.

As for how Miss Potts would feel about it, Bruce wasn't so sure. The look she had given him earlier wasn't the kindest he'd ever seen, not that he had much to compare it to. Other than Tony, and he was too kind.

Tony laughed suddenly, putting an arm around Bruce's shoulder. "Stop worrying so much." Tony gave his shoulders a squeeze. "You're home now."

Bruce lowered his head, sighing.

In all reality, this was the closest he'd had to a home since the accident. The worst part was that he was growing to love it. No, that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was that he didn't mind that he was growing to love it.

0

Clint dropped onto the stool like a sack of bricks, leaning down on the cool counter. His puffed breaths made little steam circles, his cheek sticking to the counter with sweat.

It'd been one hell of a day.

"I hear you beat your own record on the course today." Tasha slid into the stool beside him, holding up two bottles with a wry smile. Clint laughed against the counter, peeling himself up slowly to take one. "Congratulations."

He laughed softly, popping the top and taking a swig in one motion. It was a stout. He swished the beer in his mouth, concentrating hard on the flavors. "Oatmeal stout?"

Tasha nodded, raising her bottle. Clint clinked his to it. She took a sip of her own, leaning forward against the counter with her elbows. "You're good."

"Got to be, with all these superheroes in S.H.I.E.L.D. now."

Tasha hoisted her bottle to that, knocking it back. Clint mimicked her, only lowering his bottle when she did. It took a while; he almost had to come up for breath.

"Still wondering if the world was ready?"

Clint shook his head, readjusting on his stool. He was sore already. He'd probably have trouble moving in the morning, but he didn't regret it. He still had it. Most importantly, he'd just proven to S.H.I.E.L.D. that he still had it.

"What is it then?" Tasha quirked an eyebrow at him, lips not quite a smile, not quite a frown. She was curious. And worried, though she hid it well. He knew what to look for, by now.

Clint pursed his lips, staring at his bottle. There was no label. For all he knew, Stark brewed this in his lab. If that was the case, it probably wasn't safe for human consumption, but it tasted damn good, so he really didn't care. He'd have to remember to ask later.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking. About this whole superhero thing." Clint took another sip. His bottle was almost empty. He really hoped Tasha had more hidden on her. "And about villains."

"Clint, it wasn't your fault—"

"I know." Clint drank the last of his bottle with a clenched jaw, setting it down slowly. His hand shook. He quickly put his hand down flat on the counter. Tasha reached over, threading her fingers through his. He managed a small smile in return. "It isn't about that."

"Okay. What is it about, then?"

"I was wondering…" Clint took a deep breath. "If there weren't superheroes, would there even be supervillains?"

Tasha looked away sharply, crimson brows pulling in just slightly, full lips pressed into a thin line. He knew her answer, even before he spoke it. He turned his hand over, giving hers a reassuring squeeze.

They both knew the files.

'Iron Monger' used the Mark I technology Stark developed, not to mention his arc reactor, pulled from his chest, to attack. 'Whiplash' used an arc reactor as well, and attacked as a sort of retribution against Stark. And then there was Loki. Would Loki even be a villain if it wasn't for Thor?

"I don't know." Tasha bit her lip, finally looking over. She tried to smile, but it fell quickly. They didn't need stuff like that. They could tell the truth. "Power corrupts. As long as there is power, people can be corrupted."

"That includes all of us."

"I didn't say that."

Clint pulled his hand away. "I wasn't talking about _us_."

"They are all good people at heart. I doubt we have to worry about them."

Doubt. She wasn't certain, and that worried him. Tasha was always certain. He wondered who she was worried about. Banner, definitely, but he seemed to have a pretty good grip on the Hulk. Stark was eccentric, but a good guy. He'd flown a nuke into space. That went without saying. Steve was hand selected for how good of a guy he was.

Thankfully, Tasha pulled out two more bottles, pushing one his way.


	15. Part II Chapter V: Breaking

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **homosexuality, science nerds at work, Stanner, moral grey areas, my brain. My brain should always be a warning, now that I think of it.

**Author's Note: **Things are speeding up. And hitting the fan. I'm also really liking the fact that I can use this large cast to get an outside view on events which would otherwise be extremely biased one way or another. Yay so many viewpoint characters!

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART II: SOMETHING WORTH AVENGING**

**CHAPTER V: BREAKING**

"JARVIS, hit it!"

Music pumped through the speakers, Tony strumming the welding torch like it was a guitar, banging his head to the beat. Jumping three times, he spun to face the work table.

Tony flipped down the hood of his welding mask with a grin, firing up the torch. Sparks showered the cleared work table, long flame licking the surface. He leaned over, setting to work.

One song melded into another, Tony pausing now and then to jam out before getting back to it, switching tools. His robots stood by, always ready but not really needed, not for this. Oil clung to his hands, as well as hydraulic fluid and flakes of shaved metal. His hair was a sweaty mess, pushed back by his helmet. After a while, he tossed it to the side, switching to goggles to keep the sweat and grime out of his eyes.

In two hours, he had a shield that spun in on itself, condensing into the size of his fist. Wiping off his hands as best as he could, Tony punched a few buttons on the nearest screen, watching as the shield expanded and closed again.

Now all he needed to do was get an energy field going through it, and they'd be in business.

Mini-mini-arc reactor. Tony smiled, hopping over his work bench to fish out the materials he needed. He still had a few palladium cores, but they were a bit big for the shield, especially since it wouldn't need the same kind of power output as his suits required. Tony shoved everything into a box to be sorted later, dropping it on his work table.

"Tony!"

Tony turned, pulling his goggles up on top of his head. His smile returned full force when he saw Bruce holding a bag and a drink carrier. "JARVIS, volume down." The music faded into the background immediately, though his ears kept ringing.

"I brought lunch." Bruce lifted the bag, eyes going up and down.

Tony finally looked down at himself. He grinned, laughing. "I should probably get cleaned up. Be right back, I promise." Tony turned, stripping off his black work tank top as he went. He tossed it in the hazardous waste bin as he went, undoing his pants before he kicked the door shut behind him.

It was a safety shower, tiny and cramped compared to the one he had down in his penthouse, but it had all the good degreasers and a few sets of clothes under the sink, just in case he spilled chemicals on himself at some point. It'd happened more than once.

He clicked on the water, stepping under. It was cold, but it worked, Tony lathering up and rinsing off quickly. He only toweled off briefly, shaking most of the water out of his hair before pushing it back. He needed a haircut. He'd have to get his PA to make an appointment for that.

Pulling on a fresh shirt and the same dirty work pants, Tony emerged. Bruce had abandoned the food at the edge of the workshop and was bent over the shield, computer screen close at hand with his schematics.

"Not the finished project. Just a trial run." Tony pulled up a chair, plopping down on it next to Bruce.

Bruce pulled his glasses down, casting a sideways glance at him. "Is palladium used in all of your arc reactors?"

Was that worry he detected? That sounded distinctly like worry.

"No. I mean yes. It used to be." Tony half-smiled, but let it fall quickly. There was no point faking with Bruce. He deserved the truth. "My new chest piece doesn't rely on it."

"You were dying, weren't you?"

Tony hung his head. No hiding. He refused to hide anything from Bruce, not after how much trust he'd been shown. He hadn't even lied about the shrapnel, telling him straight out when he didn't even discuss the details with Pep.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine." Tony wetted his lips, staring at the table. "If it wasn't for S.H.I.E.L.D. stepping in, I probably wouldn't be here right now."

Bruce stared at him from over his glasses, dark gaze unwavering. That worry hadn't changed, or at least, it hadn't left. It was stronger, even. Tony couldn't meet his eyes. He couldn't return that look. It made him feel unarmored, vulnerable.

"Worse than the shrapnel?"

Tony closed his eyes. He had to open them quickly. Sometimes he could still see the bombs flying, the explosions, gunfire, the cave. Tony swallowed roughly. His mouth was really dry.

He wheeled away from the table, grabbing one of the drinks. It was the fuller of the two, so he assumed it was his, taking a long drink. It didn't help.

"The arc reactor was poisoning me. Killing me. But if I didn't have the arc reactor, I'd just die from the shrapnel. It was just a matter of time."

"You sound like you were okay with that."

"I was. I didn't have a choice." Tony opened the bag, glancing in it. For once, food didn't sound appetizing. "I'd donated my art collection, forced Rhodey to take one of my suits, signed my company away to Pepper. I had all bases covered."

Bruce didn't say anything. There was nothing else to say. Tony let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He took another sip of his drink, but his mouth still felt unbelievably dry.

"Can I see it?"

Tony spun, catching himself on the table so he'd stop facing Bruce. "Excuse me?"

"Your new arc reactor, without the palladium."

This was just scientific curiosity. Tony shrugged, pulling off his shirt. He set it down on the table, standing so Bruce could sit. That put him at the right height to poke and prod at the reactor, at least, which seemed to be what he wanted to do.

Rather than setting right in, Bruce just stared at it. Maybe that was setting in. Tony could see the soft white-blue light reflected on his glasses and face, though mostly his glasses. It was actually glaringly bright. He still wasn't used to how much brighter this one was compared to the others. It'd come with time. Everything did.

Bruce reached up, but didn't touch, fingers hovering just above it. He frowned, then dropped his hands, content just to look, it seemed.

Tony sighed. "It won't kill me if you touch it. Really. Here." Tony reached up, twisting the arc reactor with a grunt. He popped it out, chest hissing as the metal cavity depressurized. Bruce stared at him with wide eyes, but didn't protest. Tony wasn't really in the mood for it anyway. "As long as these wires are plugged in," Tony rotated the reactor to show the small bundle of wires, "I'm fine."

Bruce let out a shaky breath, cradling the reactor with both hands. He turned it slowly, leaned close enough so Tony could feel the heat of his breath. He shivered. Bruce, thankfully, was completely focused on the arc reactor, trying to pick it apart with his eyes, since he couldn't actually take it apart.

He was so careful, so gentle. Tony wondered if Bruce realized he was cradling his heart.

Slowly, Bruce pressed the arc reactor back into place. Tony frowned.

"You aren't complete without it." Bruce let out a breathy laugh, clicking the arc reactor back into place.

Tony finally looked up.

Pepper was standing at the door, a lost look on her face. She backed out slowly, the door clicking shut so quietly he barely heard it. Bruce didn't seem to notice, which was good. He'd probably just apologize then vanish back into his personal lab again.

Tony didn't want that. Not at all.

0

The kitchen was dark, empty, clean. No one had come by in the last hour. She wasn't sure if she was happy about that or not. She was _hoping_ Tony would have come down, explained what she saw, but then again, when did anyone get what they _hoped for_ from Tony Stark.

Pepper sighed, pushing her hair back with a huff.

The lights clicked on, Pepper looked up sharply.

It was just Natalie—no, Natasha, Natalie Rushman had been an alias. It was complicated keeping all those things separate. Her mind just didn't want to do it right now. She didn't want to do much of anything right now.

"Pepper, are you okay?" Natasha tilted her head slightly to the side, red lips just barely parted. She looked and sounded really concerned, but she was a spy. How was Pepper supposed to know?

She really didn't care, either way. At least _someone_ cared.

"No."

Natasha crossed the room quickly, heels barely even clicking on the tiled ground. Pepper wouldn't be shocked to learn she glided rather than walked. She hopped up onto the stool next to her, offering out her arms.

Pepper sagged into them, pushing her face into Natasha's shoulder.

"What happened?"

Pepper swallowed, pressing her lips together tight to keep herself from verbally vomiting all over Natasha, but there didn't seem to be any other choice, so she did.

"Every day Tony's off in the lab and he's lost in his work and normally that would be alone, because let's face it, not many people in the world can keep up with him, but Dr. Banner is here now, and they can talk for hours and hours and I don't even understand them, it's like a completely different language, but he _gets it_ and I don't and…"

Natasha's grip loosened for a moment, then her arms tightened again, patting Pepper gently, slowly, on the back. Pepper didn't care that it was awkward. At least it was_ something_.

"I'm losing him, aren't I?"

There was no immediate answer. Natasha stopped patting her back, grabbing her shoulders to push her back so they could look eye to eye.

"What do you think?"

Pepper was hoping Natasha would have the answer to that question, but instead, here she was, getting asked it.

She wasn't sure she wanted to answer it.

Natasha made a tiny smile, so small she barely saw it. "No one knows Tony as well as you do. What does it feel like?"

Pepper took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through her mouth. She'd known Tony for years, been his Personal Assistant for years before she got the promotion to CEO, and then quit, becoming his girlfriend.

She knew.

"Thank you, Natasha." Pepper smiled a sad smile, giving Natasha a squeeze on the arm. She stood slowly, testing her balance on her heels before she tried actually walking for the elevator.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes." Pepper looked at the ground, then nodded. It was going to take a little getting used to, but she'd be fine. She always was, in the end.


	16. Part II Chapter VI: Reorganizing Life

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **homosexuality (technically bisexuality, but whatever), science nerds at work, Stanner, moral grey areas.

**Author's Note: **To everyone wondering where the nsfw stuff is right now, relationships don't happen overnight. Hold on tight, keep reading, you will be rewarded in the end, I promise. In other news, my muse eats reviews. Without reviews, I can't improve, and my muse wanders. Please don't let that happen.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART II: SOMETHING WORTH AVENGING**

**CHAPTER VI: REORGANIZING LIFE**

Tony ruffled the towel through his hair, shaking his head. He blinked a few times, squinting at the wall of windows. It was too early. Sighing, he tossed the towel down on the bed.

A stack of papers flooded his vision. Tony glanced down at them, then up at the hand extending them.

Pepper was dressed in a sleek business dress, a simple black, with a purple blouse and polished purple heels. She was wearing lipstick, too. Tony blinked a few times, staring. She cleared her throat, shaking the stack of papers.

Tony finally dragged his gaze down, reading the top line. _Virginia "Pepper" Potts_, then an address he didn't recognize, her telephone number…

"Why are you handing me a resume?"

"It's my application."

Tony frowned. What would she need to apply for?

"I'm applying for the position of your personal assistant."

He swallowed, but that did nothing to make the lump in his throat go away. If anything, it just made it more annoying. "I have a P.A.."

"You've gone through three P.A.s in the last month alone." Pepper frowned, shaking the pages again.

He didn't want to take them.

He knew, if he took them, it was a silent promise.

"It's over, isn't it?"

Pepper sighed, putting the pages down on his bedside table. "All of my contact information and references are on the page. If you need any further information—"

"Pep, I know your qualifications." Tony picked up the papers, staring at them. "You were the best P.A. I ever had, and lasted the longest, but we're—"

"Tony." Pepper smiled. He hadn't noticed that her eyes were a little on the pink side until now. She'd been crying. "Tony, don't take this personally."

"You're breaking up with me. What isn't to take personally?"

"It was magical. I felt like I was living in a fairytale. Dating a billionaire CEO who also happens to be a superhero? It was great."

"But?"

"But I know you well enough to know when you are happy, to know what makes you happy, and as long as we are in a relationship, you aren't going to be—"

"Pep, you make me happy—"

"Please, Tony, trust me, I know you better than you know yourself most of the time. I made you happy. I didn't, however, make you joyful."

"This is about Bruce, isn't it?"

Pepper lowered her head, hands clasped carefully in front of her. He hadn't seen her like this since the last time she was his P.A. and it was uncomfortable. Beyond uncomfortable.

"It isn't what—"

"Tony, you wear your heart right here." Pepper reached out, lightly touching the arc reactor. She smiled softly again, and this time, it looked completely genuine. "I'd like my job back, now."

He let out his next breath slowly. Wow. This was definitely the most civil breakup he'd ever had. And probably the most creative one. He'd give her that much credit. More than 12%. She got 100% for this.

"Yeah. Okay. You're hired. What's my schedule looking like today?"

Pepper stood up a little straighter, swinging her oversized purse forward. She opened it, pulling a clipboard out. She flipped the leather top open, tracing down the page with the back end of her brown and gold embossed pen.

"You have a breakfast to attend with your fellows of the Avengers Initiative in approximately ten minutes. After that, I have three tech deals with big names that I need signed, and then you're free to spend the rest of the day as you please—so long as it doesn't involve something I'll have to clean up after."

That was… wow that was fast. Like a freight train. Tony took another deep breath, letting it out slowly again. This was too much.

"How long—"

"Two days. I spend all of yesterday relocating my belongings back to my apartment and getting caught up on Stark Industries affairs."

"Good to know." Tony needed a drink. He stumbled over to his dresser, throwing on some clothing quickly, then went straight to the elevator.

Breakfast in ten. That was enough time to fill up a flask to spike his coffee with.

0

Everyone looked up as the elevator dinged loudly, the doors sliding open. Tony stepped out, in a rumpled t-shirt and faded jeans, hair haphazardly done. Bruce frowned. Miss Potts wasn't with him.

Tony grabbed a mug, slopping coffee in it. He pulled a flask out of his back pocket, splashing some amber liquid from it in the mug as well. He quickly pushed the flask into his pocket, stirring the coffee with a finger as he headed for the table.

Their 'host' plopped into one of the empty chairs without a word or a grumble or anything, taking a long sip of his coffee.

Bruce glanced to the empty chair next to Tony at the large round table. He was about to ask when Natasha interrupted him, shooting him a glare.

"I'm a little shocked, Stark. I didn't think you did mornings." She smiled, putting her elbows up on the table.

Tony just grunted into his mug, not moving his face far from it. Though Bruce was two chairs away, with Captain Rogers between them, he could smell the alcohol in his coffee. Bruce blinked a few times, slouching in his own chair.

The silence was not a comfortable one. Bruce concentrated on the sizzle of food in the kitchen, two chefs in clean white shirts fast at work. It smelled like crepes and some kind of fruit compote, though it was hard to tell over the lingering aroma of coffee and alcohol. He would know soon enough; it looked like the chefs were almost done.

"So, what are the schedules today?" Natasha was the one to break the silence again. It was like she knew something and wasn't divulging the information. Bruce had a feeling it had to do with the absence of Pepper Potts.

"Training." Steve and Clint spoke in unison, both falling silent. That just left Bruce and Tony.

"CEO stuff." Tony sighed, knocking back the last of his cup. He got up, wandering back to the coffee pot. Sometimes Bruce forgot that Tony ran Stark Industries. They'd been in the lab so much lately that everything else was a blur.

Bruce just shrugged.

Natasha was watching Tony carefully. He got another full cup of coffee, putting in another splash of whatever was in the flask. Even for Tony, it was a little early to start drinking. Bruce frowned, but didn't speak up. Natasha was sitting right next to him, though he doubted he would even be safe across the table from her, if he irritated her enough.

Not that she would try, considering her up close and personal date with the _other guy_ in the helicarrier.

Bruce took another drink of his coffee. Thankfully, the chefs came bearing platters, setting them down along with plates and forks for everyone. It was crepes, and there was a wide assortment of things to put on them. The appearance of food made the silence not quite as awkward, everyone diving in immediately.

No one talks while eating. It is like the shawarma shop all over again, only this time, they aren't all dead tired from saving the world. They are a different kind of tired. Bruce can see it in all of them, except maybe Natasha, but she hides it better than the rest of them. That's what she's trained to do.

When they are done eating, no one talks. Everyone sits around, lingering as though something has to be said, but no one does it. Bruce knows he should at least try, but can't. He finishes his coffee in silence. Clint and Natasha excuse themselves, and then after a short while, so does Steve.

Finally alone, Bruce still can't find the words to ask what happened. Instead he mumbles something about being in his lab and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge before going. Tony's on his third cup of coffee by then and staring blankly at the table.

From that look, Bruce can guess. He doesn't want to open the wounds any further. He hasn't really had anyone to comfort, to console, since the accident, and he wouldn't even know where to start. Instead, he just leaves.


	17. Part II Chapter VII: A Brittle Alliance

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **guys liking guys. Stanner. Tony Stark being Tony Stark. Alcohol. Forgot that one last time.

**Author's Note: **Well, I just wanted to thank all the lovely people who reviewed on the last chapter. My muse loves you. All of you. In other news, I'm still behind the curve on wordcount because of the comic expo this past weekend. I'm working on it. These next few chapters should do the trick.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART II: SOMETHING WORTH AVENGING**

**CHAPTER VII: A Brittle Alliance **

It had been a long time since he had walked the length of the rainbow bridge to the post where Heimdall once stood. He still stood there now, but without a place to guard. He merely watched, golden eyes seeing all in the Nine Realms and in Asgard itself. He was still there, golden armor gleaming against dark skin, stature like that of stone.

Thor did not approach Heimdall this time, stopping short.

The construction of a new portal for the Bifrost had officially commenced, Aesir buzzing about the end of the rainbow bridge like a furious nest of insects set aflame. Thor watched, gaze picking through each of them, finding names for most. They all worked hard, moving materials into place, making measurements, all to the beat of another's drum.

That drum was Loki's, though no one would admit it. They called it the Allfather's project, yet the mind behind it was most certainly his brother's. Under his unwavering leadership and genius, progress was being made, quite a while before anyone expected.

Despite their loathing of Loki, however misguided, the people of Asgard were in awe.

Thor took a deep breath, then began to weave through the workers, trying not to disturb them with his passing. Still they looked up, speaking warm greetings to him, waving, some even pausing for a quick embrace of arms. Thor humored this, if only to make his passage faster.

He had one goal and one goal alone. That was to see Loki before his departure.

Loki was at the middle of the chaos, standing on a small podium. He spoke quick, clear orders, directing everyone around him. Watching, it was like Loki was conducting a whole nebula to do his bidding. In a way, he was. Thor fought back a smile, knowing it would only start this exchange off ill, keeping his features as expressionless as he could as he approached.

At first, Loki seemed not to notice him. It took many moments before his brother looked down, those green eyes, matching the green woven into his tunic, finally locked on him. Loki's mouth hung ajar for a moment, before it snapped shut, thin lips pursed.

Thor knew he only had a few moments to speak before Loki shut him out entirely. He had to make every moment count.

"I wanted to say farewell."

Loki turned slowly to face him, hands falling to his sides. Thor could see them ball into fists then uncoil again, the only sign that he might be angry. He wondered if Loki would be as hateful if he knew what role Thor had played in his sentencing, or if that face would only fuel his rage further.

"I must return to Midgard."

That brought a frown. Loki stepped down, bending close as to not be heard by any others. "You go to see _her_, do you not?"

Thor tensed. Though he ached to see Jane again, now was not the time. Thor shook his head, lowering his own voice out of respect. "No. I am returning on official business, to tell my comrades of your fate."

Loki leaned back, taking one step onto his podium again. "You are… telling the truth."

"What reason would I have to lie to you?"

His brother flinched and turned his back to him, fully stepping up onto the podium again. Those hands clenched, shaking slightly. There were more than a few eyes on them now. The tension was thick enough that Thor would have to be blind to miss it; they were ready for an attack at any moment. Thor refused to believe Loki would so carelessly forfeit his life when he had been handed a second chance on a silver platter.

Finally, Loki glanced over his shoulder, face cool and calm, though Thor knew there had to be more behind his countless masks. His brother was an expert liar—they had all fallen to his deceits at least once—but he knew to be looking now.

"When you return, you will have to tell me of these comrades of yours."

Thor smiled, despite himself. He nodded, positively beaming now. "Of course. Keep yourself out of trouble's way in my absence."

Loki rolled his eyes, but rather than rebutting, he set back to work, firing off orders again as though he were a king and this, his court. Thor turned, weaving back through the crowd again. It was nearly time for the Allfather to muster the energies to send him back to Midgard, and he refused to be late.

0

He lifted his hands, stilling the punching bag. The chain it hung on groaned, but didn't protest too much. He took a deep breath, flexing his hands. They were barely even sore. It still amazed him at times. Sighing, Steve unhooked the punching bag—it was battered, but not leaking—and hoisted it on his shoulder.

The personal gym was big, with a boxing ring, weights, an area for his punching bags, but it felt empty. There were no pictures on the wall, no sign of life other than himself and the stack of punching bags. He tossed his current one off his shoulder and onto the stack.

Pulling off his gloves, he shoved them in his bag, quickly undoing the wraps over his knuckles. There were no bruises, no cuts, no sign that he'd been in there for a few hours already. Other than the fact that he was hungry. He hadn't gotten used to his metabolism yet, either. He tried not to think about it.

The news was on the television when he got back up to the main floor they shared. Steve gave the screen a glance then went to the fridge. He had food in his own fridge, but he liked the sense of community, the sense of being a team, even when the world was not in peril. They needed to keep up that bond, in case anything else came up.

He didn't want to make anyone nervous, though, so he kept that to himself.

Instead, he rifled around for a while before pulling out sandwich meat, sliced cheese, and bread.

"_The word is that Virginia 'Pepper' Potts is once again under Stark Industries employ, hinting that playboy Tony Stark is once again on the field."_

Steve quirked an eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder at the screen. He set his half-made sandwich down, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. Didn't the news have more important things to report?

That was when he noticed Dr. Banner standing in the living room, frowning deeply. Steve turned back to his sandwich, putting mayo on one slice of bread, mustard on the other.

"Have you seen Tony since breakfast?"

Steve put away the bags of deli meat and cheese, slamming the refrigerator door a little harder than he intended. "No."

Of all the people on the team, Tony was the one he got along with the least. Mr. Stark had been a playboy as well, but he was an optimist, and constantly helping others. Tony seemed to only be concerned with himself and his stuff.

The nuke said something different entirely, but…

Steve frowned, grabbing his sandwich and making to leave. He liked the sense of community and all, but right now, it hardly felt like one.

He wasn't helping that either. Steve tossed his plate down on the table. "Have you tried his workshop?"

"Yeah. And all ten R&D levels."

"Have you tried his bar?"

Bruce flinched, but didn't say anything. Steve took at as a no. He sat, digging in.

0

His phone was ringing. Tony frowned, the incoming call flashing on his HUD. Rolling his eyes, he answered it. "Yes, dear?"

Pepper cleared her throat on the other line. That was meant to be sarcastic. Too soon? He didn't care.

"Pepper, what? I'm kind of flying right now." Tony deployed the right back flaps, corkscrewing up over a parking garage. He punched on the thrusters, setting off three car alarms as he buzzed close overhead. Damn that felt good.

"_You are currently needed back at the Stark Tower."_

Tony groaned. "I thought you said the rest of my day was clear."

"_At the time, I thought it was!"_

Maybe he should have waited before hiring her back. Then again, the P.A. before her had resigned that morning, claiming that the job was too stressful, she couldn't get a hold of him, blah blah, he really didn't care.

"What's the problem?"

Pepper sighed. She probably had her face in her hands at this point. He was kind of surprised she hadn't resigned yet. _"It's not a problem. Just get back here, okay."_

"Fine, _mom_." Tony hung up before she could throw out a rebuttal, banking hard around the Empire State Building before shooting straight up. He landed on the balcony with a hard metallic thud, straightening up.

As expected, Pepper was sitting at the bar with her face in her hands. Tony rolled his eyes, walking as the Tower dismantled the suit around him. Soon enough he was back in his plain black clothing, hands in his pockets.

Pepper stood quickly, smoothing out her skirt. She tried to smile. It was more forced than most of his were.

"Director Fury has called a meeting of all members of the Avengers Initiative. He has been trying to get in contact with you for the last hour."

"I blocked his number."

Pepper pursed her lips.

"Did they start without me?"

"Probably." Pepper breathed out the word in another exasperated sigh. Maybe he was going for a record. Having a P.A. for only a few hours would be a new one.

Tony raised his hands in surrender, walking around Pepper to the elevator. "Okay, okay, I'm going."

Everyone turned to look at him when he entered the meeting room, looks ranging from a quirked eyebrow on the part of Banner to a fiery glare comparable to the pits of hell on the part of Fury. Thankfully, he saw a quick out, smiling widely when he saw Thor standing near the front of the room.

"Hey! Long time, no see!"

"Stark." Thor nodded in his direction, a small smile quirking up his lips as well.

That seemed to disperse some of the tension. Tony took the open seat next to Banner, leaning back in it comfortably.

The meeting started without a hitch, Fury telling them why they were there—Thor—and then handing the floor over—to Thor—so they could get going. For the most part, it was boring and mundane and spoken in such an archaic form of English that Tony would have fallen asleep if Natasha and Fury hadn't both been glaring daggers at him.

Loki had been under house arrest, all his stuff taken away, let to stew. That sounded like an A+ Plan for a villain. Tony rolled his eyes, bouncing in his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

"He is now at the head of rebuilding the Bifrost."

"Wow. Community service, huh?" Tony noted that he got a glare from Cap as well at that one. He was really making friends today.

"It is a great service to Asgard and he is doing so willingly."

Tony wasn't questioning that, but whatever.

"I honestly don't see how he could have been let off so easily."

Tony swiveled in his chair to stare at the Captain. He'd thought maybe, since he'd had some time to get used to the 21st Century and all, and since he wasn't wearing the spangly outfit, that he'd dislodged the stick from up his ass. Seemed like he was wrong.

"You would have done it differently?"

"Yes, Mr. Stark, I would have." Steve frowned at him. Tony ignored the warning glances, waiting with mock patience for the Captain to continue. "He caused millions of dollars of damage, over a hundred casualties, and personally killed two men—"

"Only one, actually."

Was that a growl he just heard from Fury?

"Regardless, I think I speak for all of Earth when I say this: he deserved much worse."

"Hey, so, there was this guy Gandhi—great guy, by the way—and he said something along the lines of 'an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind,' I think that was it, but the point is, I think that applies here."

"Oh, because you are the fairest, must just person in the world."

"The world gave me a second chance. Why not him?"

"This wasn't his first offense!"

"The Jericho Missile wasn't my first rodeo either!"

"Everyone, shut the fuck up!"

Everyone turned, facing Fury. He towered over the table, black leather trench coat actually looking a little more villainy than Tony had noticed before. Displeased as he was, he shut up, swiveling away from Captain Girlscout.

"When we shipped Loki back to Asgard, we were trusting them to make the right decision. So now we have to _trust_ that _decision_. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Sir." Cap was the only one to respond. He was the only one that needed the spanking right now, in Tony's eyes.

"Good. Now, if you are all done with your pissing match, I'd like to get back to the meeting."

Tony grumbled into his hand. Cap gave another 'yes, sir' like the good army boy he was.

There was absolutely no point in being here.

Tony pushed back his chair, standing sharply. Fury stopped in mid-sentence and eyed him. For a moment, Tony was worried Fury was armed. Other than his two little pet assassins, that is.

Thankfully, no weapons were pulled. That meant he had the floor.

"So, now that we've got the Loki stuff out of the way, is there a reason we're here?" Tony clapped his hands together, looking around. "I've got a business to run and a suit to upgrade. Translation: I don't have time for a massive pity party or whatever it is you're throwing here."

Fury rolled his eye, sighing. "You're dismissed, Stark."

"Thank you." Tony gave a little bow, swiveling on his heel to go. He heard someone else stand, not bothering to look.

"Excuse me, Dr. Banner, I didn't say you could go."

"Try to stop me."

Tony glanced over in time to see that small smile of Banners, just as he went through the door, the doctor right behind him.

"Tony, wait—"

He stopped, glancing over. Bruce's wry little smile was gone. That was a shame. Tony liked that smile.

"Want to go to the lab? I wasn't joking about the suit."

Bruce sighed, but agreed.

0

Tony went right to work like nothing was wrong. Maybe he went right to work because everything was wrong. Bruce had read his file, since everything had settled down. He had caught up on countless news reels. When Stark was having personal trouble, he always fled to his workshop and didn't emerge until he'd forgotten.

Then again, maybe he didn't forget.

Bruce went along with it, paying attention as Tony explained quickly his prototype for a shield and bounced suit modifications his way. This sort of science—or rather, engineering—was not his field of expertise, but he commented where he could. That was the least he could do.

It started with handing him tools. The robots could do it, but Bruce could do it faster, and without messing something up, so he was the go to.

It became Bruce holding stuff in place while Tony worked, their arms crossing at awkward angles, Bruce having to twist this way while Tony pulled that way.

Soon enough, they were both bent over the table, arms still crisscrossing, both trying to see through the same magnifying glass. All the pieces looked like they were properly fitted together, Bruce pushing his glasses further up.

He could feel Tony smile, goatee rough against his cheek.

Bruce stiffened. He swallowed roughly, holding his breath.

He hadn't even noticed they were cheek to cheek, practically wrapped around one another trying to hold everything in place.

He counted to ten, slowly.

Tony wasn't moving.

Bruce went to move.

"Wait, wait, _wait_." Tony spoke quietly, in a strained whisper. He didn't seem to mind the contact at all. Then again, he completely disregarded the other guy. This wasn't safe. People shouldn't get this close. "Bruce, breathe. I can feel you not breathing. There's just one more part—"

"Okay, okay, I'm staying." Bruce finally breathed again. Tony's goatee tickled, but he fought the urge to move away. He wanted to see this. He wanted to see it start up.

Tony gently dropped the fluid on the tiny metal ring, that smile pulling at his cheek as it started to glow. Bruce stared in awe.

"Wow."

"Lower it slowly."

Bruce did as he was told, slowly lowering the tiny palladium ring into the miniaturized mini-arc reactor. He let out a slow breath the moment it touched its mount.

"There we go. Now turn that."

He turned the top, the shield snapping over it, clear and letting the glow of the palladium shine through it. Bruce smiled as well now, even as Tony's laugh reverberated through him.

"_Congratulations, you two have just made an even smaller arc reactor. I will begin running diagnostics now."_

Bruce set his tools down slowly. Tony lowered the arc reactor onto its holder, a cradle with wires dangling from it at all angles. They put their hands on the table, but didn't move away.

"Hey Bruce…"

"Yeah?"

Tony closed his eyes; Bruce could barely see it in his periphery, a blur of colors and basic forms outside the line of his glasses.

He didn't say anything at first.

It was a comfortable silence, but there was something else, something hovering just beneath it. It was like Bruce was expecting something, he didn't know what, but there was something to expect.

"Nevermind."

Tony hung his head, finally breaking the contact between them. It was like a wire had been cut. Bruce pulled off his glasses, setting them down. He didn't normally do this, but…

"You can talk to me."

Tony glanced up slightly, Bruce barely able to make out when Tony half-smiled up at him. Tony sat on the bench. Bruce did the same. His knees hurt from kneeling on it so long anyway.

"Pepper broke up with me."

Bruce nodded. He would say he was sorry, but from what he'd seen so far, Tony didn't seem to be. There was no point in false condolences anyway.

"She said it'd been a great time." Tony laughed nervously, wetting his lips. Bruce forced himself to look up into those eyes, instead. "But she didn't make me happy. I mean, isn't it supposed to be the other way. Like 'oh, you don't make me happy, so let's break up' not the other way around?"

"I wouldn't know."

Tony looked over sharply, then glanced away. They'd almost been face to face for a moment there. Bruce was glad Tony had put even a tiny bit more distance between them.

"She said… she said she knew me better than I knew myself. I mean, I wouldn't argue, entirely, maybe, but…" Tony hung his head again, fingers fidgeting. He obviously wasn't good at the whole talking out emotions thing. What superhero was? "She saw something. Something more than I saw."

There was that expectation again. It made a chill creep up his spine. Bruce had to fight not to squirm.

"I…"

"Tony, you didn't do anything wro—"

Lips brushed against his, warm and slightly chapped and softer than he was expecting. It was experimental, slow, questioning.

Bruce was paralyzed.

Tony hovered there, then turned, standing quickly. He grabbed a rag from the table, wiping off his hands.

The door slammed before he could even stand up or say that it hadn't been a no.


	18. Part II Chapter VIII: Falling

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **Men. Who like other men. Stanner. Crazy Tony Stark being crazy. Language.

**Author's Note: **I decided to say fuck the outline for the rest of part 2. My muses have pulled me in a different direction, so that part of the outline is pretty worthless right now. Yeah. Hold on tight. I've only got three chapters to go in part 2 and it's about to heat up.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART II: SOMETHING WORTH AVENGING**

**CHAPTER VIII: FALLING**

It was awkward at first. He wasn't going to lie about that, even to himself. Whenever he ran into Bruce in what had become the common room, they only said a few words to one another before going about their days. It took a week before he'd finally stuck around in the room, and that's when Bruce asked if he needed any more help in the lab.

That's when he knew that everything was okay. He hadn't messed up royally, like he did with everything else in his life. Well, everything that wasn't science or engineering related. He and Pepper were even able to work together now, though their contact was limited. It had probably been that limited before, but he just hadn't taken a moment to notice.

Tony was really glad. He would have hated to have lost this so soon.

0

It was good to have Thor back, even if it was for a short time. His presence diffused a lot of the tension. Morning meals became a regular occurrence, though not everyone attended. Usually Tony wasn't there. Natasha wasn't surprised about that.

Training was more interesting, too.

Natasha brushed out her hair as she walked, skin cool and fresh from a shower. Thor had joined them for training again, and the four of them (Clint, Thor, Steve, and herself) had run through the S.H.I.E.L.D. training course outside of town together. The operators threw everything they had at them, but they'd succeeded, and in good time.

She was tired now, but still had things to do. She didn't have the luxury of still being fresh like Steve and Thor. One was a super-soldier, the other practically a god. Training or no, she was still a human.

Tossing her brush in her room as she passed it, she went to the elevator, riding it down to the S.H.I.E.L.D. floor. A few people nodded at her as she passed. Natasha kept walking, not out of being rude, but out of being a woman on a mission.

The secretary intercepted her at Fury's door. Natasha waited patiently, then banged on the door herself.

"Come in."

Natasha opened the door a crack, slipping in quietly. She closed it with a gentle click. Fury swiveled in his chair, facing her with an expectant look.

"Do you have something to report, Agent Romanoff?"

"No." Natasha pursed her lips, staying where she was across the room. "I have a question. And I want an honest answer."

Fury motioned at one of the chairs in front of his desk. After a moment, Natasha decided it would be fine, taking a seat. She crossed her legs carefully, though she was in slacks. It was a force of habit.

"What is it?"

"Stark said that Loki only killed one person."

"Stark says a lot of things."

Natasha smiled a little at that. Yes, Tony did. This was serious, though, and she could tell Fury was trying to skirt around the subject. "Where is he?"

"Loki's in Asgard."

"Phil." Natasha leaned forward, leveling her gaze at Fury's one good eye. "Where is Phil?"

Fury leaned back in his chair, sighing. "He's out of recovery."

He really was alive.

"So you telling Stark and Captain Rogers that Phil was dead…" Natasha cracked a full smile at that, sitting back proudly. "You're good."

"I know." Fury gave her a little nod. "Anything else?"

"Nope." Natasha stood, about to go when Fury held up a hand.

"Don't tell the others."

"They will find out eventually. Stark already knows."

"And he still hasn't told anyone else, except for that little slip up at the meeting. I'd like to break it softly to the others, so they aren't all up in arms."

Natasha nodded. "Your secret's safe with me."

"I'd hope so."

0

Tony flipped back his hood, staring down at his handiwork. The last repair on the Mark VII was officially done, and then some. He'd finished upgrading it as well, all the bells and whistles included. With a grin, he lifted up the completed component, one of his robots taking it.

"Jarvis, I'd like to take a test flight of the Mark VII."

"_Shall I put it into the loader?"_

Tony pulled off his welding mask, setting it aside with all his tools. He wiped off his hands with a rag, then picked up his bracelets, clicking them on.

"No. Put the deployment container on the roof."

"_Sir, are you planning on—"_

"Do it, Jarvis!"

"_Yes, Sir."_

Tony checked the bracelets. They were secure. Nodding to himself, he left the workshop, the elevator dinging open just before he reached it.

Bruce stood there, fidgeting. Tony stepped in next to him, punching the button for his penthouse.

"I was just coming to—"

"Don't worry about it. I was heading down." Tony glanced over, then quickly looked at his feet. Bruce was wearing that yellow shirt Tony'd given him. It looked good on him.

The elevator headed down without any interruptions. Tony couldn't stand still. Worse, he couldn't stand the silence between them.

"Look, I'm sorry."

Bruce frowned. "What did you do?"

Tony sighed. They'd been acting like nothing had happened for over a week. Maybe he should have just dropped it. He wasn't good at leaving things alone. "For… invading your personal space."

"Oh."

They didn't say anything else on the way down. There was that silence again. Great.

0

The elevator doors opened, a rush of fresh air flooding in. Bruce took a deep breath, letting it relax some of the tension in his shoulders. Tony moved first, walking quickly out into his airy penthouse.

Bruce stood there a moment, watching as Tony moved across the spacious penthouse to the bar, getting a glass of water, surprisingly. The doors started to close. Bruce jumped, slipping through them.

The last time he had been up here, he'd been trapped in a mental cage, watching helplessly as the other guy smashed Loki into the floor. He could see that damage was repaired, thankfully. That was good. He hoped it hadn't been too expensive.

Of course he was worrying about expenses rather than facing the actual problem. Tony Stark wasn't the type to apologize. In fact, he wasn't the type to think that he ever, actually, did anything wrong. But thinking about that would acknowledge emotions, acknowledge a level of caring he just wasn't willing to attribute to Tony or to admit, himself.

Something was wrong. After so many years of trying not to get close to people, of trying to push others as far away as he could, Bruce didn't know what to do.

Tony knocked back the last of his glass. He pressed a little meter to his thumb, frowning down at it. Slowly, he set the little metal device aside, and started walking for his suit assembly line. The machines didn't initialize, the walkway remaining clear and empty.

Bruce approached the bar, picking up the device the moment Tony's back was turned. _Palladium Concentration 13%_. Bruce frowned.

He looked up in time to see Tony jump.

Bruce dropped the blood toxicity reader. He didn't hear it hit the floor over the pull of blood through his veins, pounding in his ears. He started in a stumble, running for the balcony.

His knees crashed against the metal floor, wrists jarring with pain as they hit the small lip on the balcony.

He leaned over the side. Wind slapped at his face, skin prickling, shivering, _writhing_. He took jagged breaths, searching the air for him. He couldn't see anything.

Everything was fading into black.

"Deep breaths, Bruce."

Bruce looked up, blinking.

Tony Stark, in full crimson and gold suit, hovered in the air in front of him. Tony angled his feet, swinging around onto the platform. He landed with a metal thud, flipping up his helmet.

"Come on, deep breaths. I can see the green in your eyes."

Bruce stood in a rush, punching him.

"You should have told me what you were doing! I thought you had—I thought that you—"

Tony wiggled his jaw, blinking in surprise. He grabbed Bruce's shoulders. Somehow his metal hands were actually holding him softly, albeit firmly. "Deep. Breaths."

Bruce took a shaky breath in through his nose, then pushed it out through his mouth, repeating. His heart was flying at a million miles an hour. The rush in his ears still made it hard to hear Tony, or much of anything. His vision was clearing, though.

"You're an asshole."

Tony barked a laugh, slapping Bruce on the shoulder. "I'm not the suicide type."

Bruce actually laughed at that. "Right. That's what your file has written all over it." Bruce shook his head. "Look, you've been acting weird lately and I saw that blood toxicity reader, and then you _jumped_ and I—"

"Almost Hulked out. Yeah, I noticed." Tony gave a small smile. "Thanks for the sentiment, but—"

"Come on, Tony, you know we all care about you."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Captain Flag-pole up his ass does _not_ care about me."

"Well I do."

He could see the tension blossom in Tony's jaw, the way all the muscles went taut. That probably wasn't good for his teeth. He knew Tony wouldn't want to hear that, though.

"I sense a 'but' here."

Bruce sighed. That explained the tension. "Yeah, there is one. I… I'm sorry for freezing up. When…" Bruce made a non-committal noise. That was easier than outright saying it. "It's just that I haven't let anyone close since the accident. It's not safe, with the other guy—"

"Would you stop with that?"

Bruce looked up sharply. There was something in Tony's eyes, not quite hurt, but not quite angry. It was in between. Bruce was caught, though, he couldn't look away. He wished Tony didn't have that power over him.

"We've been working together for a while now, in one another's personal spaces, and nothing bad has happened. This is the first time your big green buddy has even knocked on the door to get out, and guess what? You didn't let him out."

"The situation—"

"Didn't call for him. So he went back to sleep."

"But increased heart rate, adrenalin, they can—"

"I don't think that's it." Tony shook his shoulders gently, as though he had to keep Bruce's attention. He had all of his attention. It wasn't necessary. "Fight or flight. It's a basic human instinct. And I think, that when your body registers that flight isn't an option, the fight comes out."

Well, there was no point in arguing. Tony had obviously done his homework. It was frustrating. Normally he could just hide behind the other guy like a shield and everyone would just accept it. Everyone would gladly back away, put distance between them, because they were too afraid of the monster to see the man behind it.

Tony wasn't afraid of anything, it seemed. He had, after all, just jumped off a building.

"I know I asked you to give me a chance, but…" Tony looked away, staring off into the mid-distance. Bruce could finally look away from those eyes, but he didn't want to. "Do you ever even give yourself a chance?"

That hurt. Bruce looked down, letting out a half-sigh, half-laugh. Wow. Tony had him pegged, guilty as charged.

"No."

Tony gave his shoulders a squeeze. "Please try?"

Bruce looked up. Tony was giving him that look again. It made his stomach flip.

There was only one answer he could give.

Bruce tilted his head up, tentatively pressing his lips to Tony's. Tony turned his head, lips meshing with his. They weren't as chapped this time. His lips spread. It was warm, welcoming. Bruce closed his eyes. Tony tasted like metal and something else, something slightly sweet.

Tony was the one to pull back. He was grinning again. "If I knew all it would take was jumping of a building…"

They laughed. Bruce looked away. What was he doing?

"Don't worry." Tony seemed to know. "I'll take it slow."

Bruce couldn't help but give him a skeptical eye at that. Tony Stark, take it slow? The world must be ending.

"Well, slower than this." Tony gave a mock salute and jumped off the building again.


	19. Part II Chapter IX: Normalcy

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **Men. Who like other men. Stanner. Crazy Tony Stark being crazy. Language. My portrayal of Steve Rogers. That's a warning. I'm sorry I dislike his portrayal in the movies so much.

**Author's Note: **I was a total slacker yesterday. Oops.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART II: SOMETHING WORTH AVENGING**

**CHAPTER IX: NORMALCY**

It wasn't difficult to find Captain America. He was on a set schedule like clockwork. It screamed of the military, which Tony wasn't exactly comfortable with. It probably showed. The problem was the fact that Captain A only seemed accessible at certain times of that schedule, the most notable of which was breakfast.

And he ate it early.

For the last few days, Tony had set an alarm. All three of those days he woke up around noon and found the alarm clock across the room. According to Jarvis, it was a miracle the thing hadn't shattered yet, with how hard Tony threw it. He didn't remember throwing the clock, but watching the security reel confirmed that he had actually thrown it.

Today was different. Tony hadn't gone to sleep. He'd been sipping on coffee (and a bottle of water; had to at least keep hydrated) all night, working on the Mark VIII. Right now he had a holographic design with some notes and a few potential directions to go in, but nothing solid. He'd worked straight through the night, so that when morning came, and Jarvis announced to him that Steve was in the kitchen, Tony rushed for the elevator.

He found Steve standing over the stove, one hand manning a pan, the other a spatula. It smelled like he was cooking eggs, though Tony could be wrong. He'd only smelled them cooking once, and that'd been when he was trying to make that omelet for Pepper.

Wrong train of thought for right now.

Tony came up beside him, glancing at the coffee pot. It was empty. He could do this. He'd made coffee before. It couldn't be more difficult than thermo-nuclear-astrophysics.

After staring at the pot for a minute, Steve finally intervened.

"The grounds and filters are in the cabinet. Two heaping scoops for a full pot."

Tony grumbled a thank you, opening the cabinet. Just as Cap said. Tony pulled down the grounds, fitting a filter into the top of the coffee pot, in the slot it looked like it fit in. It was the only big round spot, so that had to be it. Popping off the top of the coffee canister, he shoveled out two massive scoops, plopping them into the filter.

"Next, fill up the carafe with water to the 12 mark and pour it into the back, behind the filter."

Tony did just that, putting the glass carafe back into place. He took a deep breath, staring at the machine. He closed the top, leaning in to stare harder at the machine.

Steve reached over, pressing a button on the machine's front.

And the coffee started brewing.

It kind of hurt, seeing Steve using a piece of post WWII technology without blinking an eye, when Tony had absolutely no idea what to do with it. He'd automated one of his robots to make coffee for him, but that was years ago, and he hadn't had to do the process since. Either his robot did it, or someone else brought him coffee.

Sighing, Tony stared as a dark brown stream fell into the carafe, splashing on the bottom. A little bit of condensation appeared over the coffee line, from the heat differential. Tony strummed his fingers on the counter, collecting his thoughts.

"Captain?"

"Yes, Mr. Stark?"

Tony frowned at that. He wondered if Cap had called his father that. Probably. Steve was nice to everyone—but him—so he could count on him being respectful. Steve probably even called Natasha ma'am, which hurt just to think about. He had to fight hard not to laugh.

Steve flipped his omelet off the pan and onto the plate. He turned off the stove, setting the pan to the side. Grabbing a fork, the man went to the breakfast bar, sitting on one of the stools. There was already a cup of orange juice at the seat. How wholesome.

Not willing to wait anymore, Tony grabbed a mug and poured out what was already brewed, then joined Steve, keeping a stool between them.

It took three sips of scalding hot black coffee for him to finally speak up again.

"What do normal people do on dates?"

Steve chewed slowly, shooting him a look. It was a mean sort of look, Tony snorting, giving one of his defensive grins. He kept his coffee in one hand, sipping it slowly without breaking eye contact. He'd never been the type to back down. He absolutely would not start where Cap was involved.

"Are you trying to be funny?"

Tony made his best 'oh please' face over his mug. "No. I was being honest for once."

Steve gave a pinched, disapproving sigh. Tony took a gulp of his coffee, not caring that it burned all the way down. He had to steel himself for the lecture he could see coming from a mile away.

It didn't come, though. Steve just shook his head, continuing to eat. "What makes you think I know anything about dating? You're the… what was it? Genius, billionaire, _playboy_, philanthropist? Your pinky probably knows more about women than I do."

Tony couldn't help but laugh at that. He almost choked on his coffee. Thankfully, it was only almost. He was still nervous about someone having to help him if he was choking—that squeezing motion might back his arc reactor pop out, if he wasn't lucky.

"Yeah, well, playboy doesn't mean dates. It means sex. Meaningless, unearned sex." Tony played with his mug in his hands. Normally, he just went for sex. There were no emotional attachments, no expectations, no emotions, just carnal pleasure, and for years, he'd been perfectly fine with that.

He wanted something more now.

When he glanced up, Steve was blushing and eating a little faster.

"Look, I didn't mean to make you embarrassed, I didn't come in here to jab at your innocence." Tony looked away. He wouldn't say I'm sorry; this was the closest he'd get to it. Take it or leave it.

"What did you come here for, then?"

"Advice."

Steve set down his fork lightly. The plate was cleared. Great. Now Cap was going to run away and he'd still be at square one.

"Bucky would always take girls out dancing."

"Bucky?"

"My best friend." Steve gave a little smile. It didn't match the sadness in his eyes, though. "Girls were lining up for him. He'd always take them to dance halls, show them a good time."

"And, uh, what if the… _girl_… isn't really into the whole dance scene? Or overstimulation?"

"Nothing wrong with an old fashioned dinner and a movie." Steve laughed a little at that, shrugging.

Steve calling something old fashioned was priceless. It did, however, sound like it fit the bill.

"Thanks, Cap. I owe you."

"Oh great." Steve stood, going straight to the sink with his dishes to wash them by hand, even though they had a perfectly good dishwasher. And a cleaning staff.

Tony would never understand Steve, but at least he was a half-decent sounding board. When it came to normalcy, at least.

0

Bruce didn't look up from the microscope. He knew it would be easier to stare at abnormal cell walls than it would be to face Tony's expression at the refusal. He had to make Tony see his point in this. It was going to be difficult, very, very difficult, but not looking up was the first step.

"Tony, you know that's a bad idea."

He could practically hear Tony roll his eyes. Bruce concentrated on staring down at his work, flipping to a lens with a higher magnification.

"Give me one good reason why it'd be a bad idea."

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment. Step two: logic. "The press follows you everywhere you go."

"And?"

Maybe logic wasn't the best route. Maybe he should appeal to something else. "They will ruin it. Constantly following us, snapping pictures, asking questions. It wouldn't be a date."

He could hear Tony huff, which meant he was getting somewhere. That was a little surprising. Then again, Tony seemed like he had all the patience in the world concerning Bruce, something else that was surprising. Since that day Tony had taken out the Mark VII for tests, they hadn't done much more than give a fleeting, decidedly chaste kiss here and there, and even that was like tiptoeing on thin ice.

"How about this." Tony paused dramatically, drawing Bruce's gaze up. He immediately regretted it. Tony was doing that thing with his eyes and the pouting. "I have my private chef make us a really nice dinner, then we watch a movie here. Well, in your living room."

"Am I allowed to give more reasons?"

Tony frowned deeper. This wasn't working at all. Bruce stood up fully from his work bench, turning. He rubbed his hands together, concentrating on them, but Tony kept giving him that _look_ and he couldn't just look away.

"When?"

"Tonight?"

Bruce glanced down at his wrist. It was already 5:00 p.m. and he hadn't even noticed. "Can you really get everything together that fast?"

Tony grinned. It was like a light bulb, a 1000 watt light bulb, had been turned on in his eyes. Bruce couldn't say no, now.

"I'll see you at 7:00?"

"Where?"

Tony made a gesture at the wall. "Your dining room?"

"Fine. I'll see you then."

Tony had an undeniable bounce to his steps as he left the lab, an uncontained joy that was absolutely infectious. Bruce couldn't help but smile. He'd better wrap up his experiment and get ready.

0

Tony showed up to dinner in a suit, like they were going out to the best five-star restaurant in New York City and the whole world would be watching. It was just the two of them, though. The moment the chef was done working his magic in the kitchen, he left them alone.

There were candles on the table and a nice maroon tablecloth, which matched Bruce's button up shirt, embarrassingly enough. Tony couldn't have known what Bruce was going to wear, unless Jarvis had supplied the information. It was a possibility.

There was curry and chana masala and all sorts of other food he had been missing sorely, but didn't want to admit to. Bruce ate eagerly, all the more so when Tony eyed some of the food suspiciously. He felt like he had all the patience in the world explaining what each thing was, what kind of spices were used, and how good they were for the human body.

Dinner lasted well over an hour. They weren't eating the whole time, even though there were three courses, including an amazing desert. Mostly, they were talking. Some of it was about science. They couldn't help it. The rest of it was about them.

Though they'd talked about their lives before their respective accidents, it had only been fleeting moments, bits and pieces here and there, with massive gaps. Now was different. It did not feel like he was hauling a desperate amount of baggage with him. It felt like he was handing Tony a book, and Tony was doing the same.

Tony was a good liar, but Bruce could tell the different. It was so small, so subtle, others might miss it, but Bruce _knew_, just like he knew Tony was being completely honest with him. Tony was trusting him.

Even being here should have proven Bruce trusted Tony just as much. He hoped it did.

They finally moved to the living room just before 9 p.m., both settling on the couch. A small box of dvd cases sat on the table, Bruce flipping through them slowly. Being at the furthest reaches of the world for so long, he didn't know more than half of these movies, or these actors. He used to like movies. They were good for relaxing, for switching off his mind, not that he had liked to do that often.

"I, uh…"

Bruce glanced over his shoulder, over the rims of his glasses. Tony was fiddling with a smaller box, turning it over and over again in his hands. Bruce didn't say anything, just watching that nervous motion. Thankfully, Tony got the hint and continued.

"I made you something." Tony looked down, swallowing. It was really weird seeing the man nervous, even more so to hear him mumbling. "So you don't have to worry so much."

Bruce sat up slowly, taking the box when it was offered to him. It was light in weight, and he couldn't hear anything strange. He pulled off the plain brown wrapping.

It was a metal wrist band, with a smooth circle of a different metal on the inside curve, a small, sleek display opposite of it, on the outside. Bruce turned it over in his hands, then finally looked up with knit in brows.

"It monitors things like adrenalin, serotonin, blood pressure, heart rate. That kind of stuff." Tony was still staring down at his knees. "There's a slide, next to the display. If you press the button under it… it injects a sedative."

Bruce ran his thumb over the slide, seeing the little button beneath it. The band was a little wonder. It was so simple, and yet…

"I don't know if it will work, but—"

"Thank you." Bruce smiled, undoing the clasp to slide it over his hand. He latched it into place, the metal snug but not too tight on his skin. It was plain enough most people wouldn't even notice it. It almost looked like a watch. It was perfect. "I don't even—"

"It's fine. I wanted to help."

Bruce reached up, brushing his fingers under Tony's chin. He pulled, Tony following willingly. Bruce kissed him tentatively, and Tony seemed to have the same sort of reserve, hesitation, until Bruce felt a tongue brush his lips. He opened his mouth before he could thing, that tongue exploring, coaxing his own up.

Hands ran from his shoulders to his waist, and suddenly he was turned, back hitting the plush cushions of the couch. He looked up, Tony staring down at him. His dark eyes were wide and warm and Bruce had to blink not to get lost in them. Tony leaned down, kissing again, this one faster.

His heart rate was rising. The bracelet gave a warning beep. Tony's fingers were on his shirt, undoing the buttons carefully even though he didn't break their mouths apart. It felt too hot in there, stifling. Tony's tie was off, flung somewhere else. He was undoing his own shirt, tugging the tails up from underneath his pants.

His breathing was ragged, panted. The bracelet beeped again, louder this time, a shrill warning.

Tony paused. His face went slack. He sat back sharply.

Bruce rolled off the couch, stumbling, almost tripping over the table. He sprinted, the door barely clicking shut behind him when he felt the other guy come ripping out.

0

He opened his eyes. There was the bracelet, laying on the floor, clasp undone. He reached forward slowly with an aching arm, brushing his fingers against the cold, glass display. Somehow, the bracelet was whole, unbroken, untouched even. Bruce licked his lips, rolling them together to spread the moisture.

Bruce pushed himself up slowly, bleary eyes dancing around the room. The floor was intact beneath him, as were the walls, and the reinforced lights above him. Everything looked as it did when he entered the room… except for him.

His maroon shirt was in tatters, shreds of the cloth scattering the room. His grey slacks hung like a dilapidated sack around him, the fibers stretched out so much they were thin like a raggedy burlap bag. Bruce bundled the cloth up around his waist, standing shakily. He grabbed the bracelet, holding it in his hand gently.

It had survived the rampage somehow. He didn't even know how he'd managed to get it off, much less avoided smashing it. Bruce sighed, clutching it a little tighter; it obviously wasn't fragile.

Bruce opened the door, sagging on the frame.

Tony was still here.

Bruce straightened, eyes widening.

Tony sat on the cough, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. Even from that distance, he could see the tremble of Tony's shoulders.

Bruce pushed off from the door frame, shuffling over. He kept his pants clutched in one hand, bracelet in the other.

Without saying anything, Bruce flopped down on the couch next to him.

Tony glanced up, if barely. Those eyes were rimmed with red.

Bruce reached out. That was awkward. He quickly readjusted his pants so they wouldn't fall off awkwardly, then slid the bracelet back on his left wrist, security it. He reached out again, pulling Tony into a hug.

Tony laughed against him. His voice was hoarse, rasping.

"I'm sorry. I should have—"

"Shh."


	20. Part II Chapter X: Something Worth

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings: **Smut. Of the Stanner variety. Cuteness as well. This is kind of a fluffy chapter. Cherish it while you can.

**Author's Note: **And here's the final chapter of part 2! Things are really going to start getting fast-hitting in the next part, so please, put your seatbelts on. Unless you don't like watching a heartbreaking train wreck about to happen. Then you might want to leave before part 4 starts. Just sayin'.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART II: SOMETHING WORTH AVENGING**

**CHAPTER X: SOMETHING WORTH AVENGING**

Tony had the patience of a saint with him. It was surprising, considering how utterly impatient the man seemed to be with everything else in the world, from groundbreaking research to food, but somehow. Maybe that was it. Tony had been saving all of his patience, hoarding it away like a prize of gold, and now he had found something worth spending it on.

Bruce smiled to himself as the lights in his lab clicked on. It was still early, early enough that no one would be in the communal kitchen yet, so Bruce wouldn't bother going up there. Not until later. He had grown to appreciate the sense of community, the fact that these people all treated him like another human being, despite their rocky start.

And then there was Tony.

Bruce tapped on the glass screen, waking up the computer. It booted up almost too quickly to follow, Bruce picking up his notes from the previous night in the meanwhile.

A yellow sticky note was pressed onto the front page. Bruce pulled it off lightly, fitting on his glasses to stare at it. In tiny writing was an equation, the pencil slightly smudged. He stared at it, but didn't recognize it.

Pulling the computer screen closer, he typed in the equation, watching as points appeared on the graph. The dots connected slowly, too slowly, Bruce frowning until he saw it.

It was a heart.

Bruce smiled, looking down sheepishly. He wondered if Tony was watching over the video feed. Probably not. They'd been up almost all night, _making science_, as Tony had started calling it. Bruce rolled his eyes with a soft chuckle. Tony could make an innuendo out of anything.

But at the same time, Tony respected his limits and didn't push. It made Bruce feel like the most special person in the world.

They ate most meals together, small, uneventful things, often in the corner of the lab, away from all the chemicals and tools. Bruce told himself it was so Tony wouldn't forget to eat, but he wasn't much better. After a while, they told J.A.R.V.I.S. to remind them if they worked for five hours without any breaks.

Despite that, Tony still set aside other mealtimes. At first, it was just the chef in Bruce's kitchen. After a week, Bruce actually suggested going out somewhere. It was nothing special, not hundreds of dollars for a meal, but it was delicious and homey and in a way, made him miss traveling a little less.

After a month, Tony suggested they go to Malibu for a weekend. Bruce ran it by Fury first, to make sure they weren't needed for some reason, and the Director waved them off, barely even glancing away from his computer for a second to acknowledge him. Authorization was authorization, so they went.

The mansion was amazing, the workshop was amazing, the view was amazing. Tony tried his hardest to make everything romantic, like a secret getaway. Just for them.

And Tony had the patience of a saint as they tentatively explored. Slow kissing on the couch turned to more. Tony had the patience of the saint as he whispered softly what he was doing, for approval, before he did it, slowly divesting them of their shirts and then undoing Bruce's pants.

It was like a fever, temperature rising gently between them, one step at a time. It was never urgent. They took their time. Tony made sure he was comfortable that first time he tipped over the edge in what felt like ages, shuddering on the couch, Tony's mouth around him. And Tony was fine that he was uncertain about returning the favor and never pressed it, telling Bruce that he was worth it, not to worry.

Coming back from Malibu felt like waking up from a dream. The S.H.I.E.L.D. hive was buzzing like someone had kicked it, but he didn't care.

Bruce stared at the graph for a moment longer, then set down to work.

0

It had taken rebooting Jarvis to get access to the roof without putting on his suit. While the AI was offline, Tony manually unlocked the door, holding it open with a conspiratorial grin. Bruce sighed and went through, Tony quickly following him.

Up there, at the very top of the Stark Tower, everything was muted. Tony couldn't hear the electric buzz of signs or the constant drone of cars and millions of people talking in a chaotic chorus. It was quiet and still and peaceful, and it seemed like the perfect place to take Bruce.

Tony tossed down the blanket he'd brought with him, spreading it out. He tossed the brown paper bag at its center, their little picnic, then sat down, back to a half-wall. Leaning against it, Tony let his gaze drift to the sky.

"It's crazy thinking there was a portal with a whole alien army coming through it up there just a few months ago."

Tony glanced over as Bruce sat next to him. "Yeah." Right now, that was all he could say in response. There was too much going on in his head, too much _other_ noise, which he could never quite control, though he tried. At least for Bruce, he tried.

"I wonder where it went."

"I've tried seeing what kind of readings I could salvage from my suit, but no luck yet." Tony let out a shaky sigh, shivering. He was glad he had made his suit pressurized, with a store of oxygen, because otherwise, flying into space like that would have killed him instantly. And he didn't want to think about that. He rather liked living right now.

Bruce shrugged. He was staring up at the sky, too, even as he polished his glasses. Tony was used to it by now, had even joked a few times that he was surprised Bruce hadn't worn a hole straight through the lenses from how much he did that. Normally it meant Bruce was worried. Or thinking. Or both. It could definitely be both right now.

"Why did you do it?"

Tony looked over sharply, biting back his automatic response. _It had to be done_. There had been other options, other ways out. Like Steve said, there was always a way out. Flying through that portal—with a nuke, no less—was supposed to be a one way trip. He had been okay with that. It hadn't been a one way trip, though, and he was thankful for that every day.

"I…" Tony tried to smile. It wasn't genuine, that business smile falling on easily. It wasn't worth it. He let that smile drop, turning his gaze back to the stars, only the very brightest of which were even visible above them, with all that light pollution.

He took a deep breath, trying again.

"I finally found something worth avenging."

He felt a hand on his, squeezing. Tony actually did smile, for real, this time. Their fingers intertwined, and they sat there, in a comfortable sort of silence, watching the stars (the satellites and occasional planes were more visible, but they were lights, too). It was nice. It was more than nice.

Tony wished he could hold on to this forever.

It might have been an hour, or two, three at most, before Bruce squeezed his hand again. Tony snapped out of his thoughts, turning his head. Bruce stood, tugging gently at his hand. "Come on." Tony stood, letting himself be led back into the building.

0

Butterflies fluttered in his chest, in his stomach, making him feel lighter than air as he led him down the hallway. His heart drummed, loud but not intimidating for once, when he opened the door.

Jarvis brought up the lights to 20%. The bedroom was dark, but not so dark he would trip over his own feet as he led Tony by the hand. His thumb brushed against Tony's wrist, feeling the pulse, counting the beats in his head, just barely elevated.

Taking a deep breath, Bruce sat on the bed, pulling Tony with him.

Tony didn't say anything. He just kept holding his hand, not expecting anything.

Bruce was ready.

He turned, cupping Tony's cheek in his palm. Tony leaned into it, closing his eyes. Bruce leaned in, kissing him lightly at first, savoring the taste. He'd figured it out. Coconut. Tony tasted like coconut and metal and nothing could be more _him_ and Bruce couldn't get enough of it, even as he made the kiss deeper, exploring tentatively.

Bruce toed off his shoes, moving back just far enough so he could see. His hands trembled as he pulled Tony's shirt up over his head. Tony lifted his arms, but didn't really move more than that, settling next to him again, waiting for instruction.

He was thankful for that. Tony was going to let him set the pace. He _needed_ that.

Bruce let a soft kiss on the corner of Tony's mouth, then the prickle of dark hair on his jaw, then his neck, savoring how warm it was, the soft salt tang from a long day. He feathered his lips down, feeling the way Tony shifted, feeling the increasing pulse under his lips.

Lightly, carefully, he placed a kiss on the arc reactor. It was warm, almost hot, and it vibrated faintly, just enough to make his lips tingle. Bruce smiled against it, smiled as he looked up, seeing in the dim light of the room, in the glow of the arc reactor, just how warm and full and truly _happy_ Tony was staring at him.

Laughing softly, Bruce met those lips with more gusto, undoing the buttons of his own shirt, tossing it off. He pushed, and they fell side by side on the bed, still laughing and smiling. It was a matter of moments before neither of them were wearing clothes, legs tangled, lips massaging together. Tony was finally moving too, hands roaming, exploring, taking in everything with work calloused fingers.

Tony rolled them, Bruce jolting in surprise. His bracelet let out a dull beep, but he ignored it. Tony was staring up at him, all the care in the world in those dark eyes. He wiggled his legs, getting them out from underneath Bruce. The brush of Tony's thighs around his waist made him shudder.

He found the lubricant in the bedside table with fumbling hands, looking away with a blush when Tony helped him pop the cap open and squirted some on Bruce's fingers. Bruce took a deep breath, counting down from ten. He could do this. He wanted to do this. He needed to do this.

Bruce was gentle and slow. He put his ear to Tony's chest, listening to each hitch in his breathing, to his increasing heart rate. Tony's fingers laced through his hair, hand clenching now and then, but he was patient, he had all the patience of a saint as Bruce took his time, regulating his breathing, keeping his heart calm, despite what he was doing.

It was almost too much when he finally buried himself in Tony's warmth. Bruce held his breath, sitting perfectly still. Tony stared up at him. The bracelet beeped twice, dull with the rush of blood through his ears.

"Bruce… breathe."

He did. One breath. Two. Three. The bracelet went silent, Bruce rolling his hips with a ragged gasp. Tony wrapped his arms around him, and it was like they melded together, the rest of the world fading away.

It was only when they were sagging into one another, completely spent, that the world slowed down and time seemed to stop.

Bruce wouldn't mind if time never started again.


	21. Part III Chapter I: Crashing Down

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, etc, etc.

**Author's Note: **Welcome to Part 3. So far, we've seen what the world after the Avengers movie is like in my brain, and we've seen Tony and Bruce fall for one another. What else could be in store? Get ready for a rocky ride!

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART III: BROKEN PROMISES**

**CHAPTER I: CRASHING DOWN**

For the first time in what felt like years, his hands were still. His fingers did not twitch with the need for constant movement, stretching for something to occupy them. Tony stared at his hands, resting palms down on the metal table. He did not feel the immediate urge to pick up a tool, to contort and bend metal to his will, to scrawl out countless equations or tweak and tailor designs.

For once, his hands were still.

Tony walked around his workshop, looking over all the projects scattered about, each at different levels of completion. The parts were there, ready to be made, fitted into place, tested, but right now, he did not move for any of them. Right now, he was merely taking stock. And wondering.

This was… _different_. Tony pursed his lips, standing near the wall, where he could survey everything at once. Nothing called to him. Nothing begged him to come and work.

"_Sir, Miss Potts is requesting entry."_

Tony sat down on a chair, arms crossed as he stared blankly across the mechanical dunes of his workshop. He would trudge for days through the desert of half-cocked ideas to find that one oasis, that one breakthrough, the completed project, but right now, his attention was divided.

The afterglow made everything soft around the edges, hazy. He couldn't see any of the projects clearly right now, even if he tried.

"Let her in."

The door clicked as it unlocked. Pepper immediately came inside, clipboard under her arm. He'd offered to give her a tablet, but she insisted upon doing everything the old fashioned way. She stopped a few paces from him, fiddling with her clipboard for a moment before finally leveling it before her.

"You were at the board meeting this morning." Pepper stared at the page before her, pen poised over it, ready to strike. It reminded him of a venomous snake. "From what I hear, it went very well."

Tony could hear the surprise. He glanced over with a frown, arms still crossed. "What?"

"It was at eight in the morning, you were more than civil, they even called you _charming_. And perfectly groomed. And sober." Pepper gave him an accusatory glance, then looked back down at the clipboard again.

"What?" Tony swiveled on his chair to more fully look at her. She was standing as stiff as a statue, and not just from the three inch spike heels. He knew her well enough that he could tell when she was irritated. Or outright furious.

Pepper didn't explain, pen slowly scanning down the paper, whatever that was. He assumed it was a schedule.

"Tomorrow you have lunch with the mayor. Also, the sitting president of M.I.T. was hoping he could have a phone conference with you sometime in the afternoon."

"Schedule it."

Pepper wrote something quickly on her page, lips still pulled in a disapproving line. He could practically feel the disapproval radiating off her in waves. It was making him uncomfortable.

"Pep, _what?_"

She tapped her pen on the clipboard, her carefully pulled expression bending into a small frown.

"I didn't tell you about the board meeting."

Tony gave a little shrug. "I know when they are."

"Usually I have to remind you, _constantly_, and even then you might miss it."

"I don't see your point."

Pepper let out a little huff, mostly restrained, then stared down at her clipboard even harder. Her knuckles were turning white.

Tony stood, making another slow round of his workshop, looking for something, anything, begging to be worked on. If Pepper had anything pressing, she already would have said it. She knew the way out.

"Director Fury wants a meeting with you."

Or not.

Tony stopped next to the partial arm piece of what would be the Mark VIII. Fury wanted a private meeting was never good. He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes. "When?"

"As soon as possible."

Tony hung his head. As far as his schedule went, he had no other obligations for the day. He wanted to have a private dinner with Bruce, but other than that…

"Schedule it."

Pepper turned, stalking out of the room.

So much for basking in the afterglow for a little while longer.

0

"What are you doing?" Natasha paused in the hallway, a hand resting lightly on the wall beside her. She quirked her head slightly, taking in the transformed common room. Gaudy banners hung on the walls, bright colors with a false metallic sheen. The room was decorated for a going away party.

Steve stepped down from the chair he was standing on, a box of thumb tacks in one hand, half a banner in the other. He grinned, looking down with just the slightest flush to his cheeks.

"Well, I…" Steve went to rub the back of his neck, almost dropping the dangling banner. He lunged for it, catching the end before it pulled up all his hard work. Natasha sighed, stepping over to help him. He gave a small smile, stepping back up on the chair. "Thor's going back to Asgard tomorrow and I thought we should do something for him."

"That's nice." Natasha tried to smile, but she knew it wouldn't reach her eyes. That was fine. Steve was gullible. "Is everyone invited?"

"Of course."

"Have you told anyone yet?"

Steve kept pinning up the last of the banner, not answering. She quirked a red brow, pursing her lips. "You should probably do that. We all have busy schedules."

"Yeah. Thanks."

"No problem." Natasha handed up the last bit of the banner, heading back into the kitchen, her original intent.

0

He sat there, perfectly still, elbows on the arm rests. Slowly, he put the tips of his fingers together, bouncing them off one another. The activity of the S.H.I.E.L.D. floor was only a muffled din beyond the door, making the silence in the office even more overwhelming. Tony frowned, keeping his gaze level, staring straight at Fury. He still wasn't sure if he should stare at the eye or the patch, so he opted for both.

"Tell me, Stark, have you reconsidered my offer?"

Tony leaned back in his chair, bringing one of his legs up. He drummed on his exposed sock for a moment, not breaking the stare-down. He absolutely refused to be the first one to look away.

"What offer?"

"Don't play dumb, Stark." Fury leaned forward, leather chair creaking loudly. Or maybe that was just his jacket. "We are looking to reopen Phase 2—"

"On that note," Tony stood sharply, smoothing out his suit as he did so, "I'm leaving."

"You haven't even—"

"I heard enough." Tony redid one button on his blazer, tugging at the lapels a little to straighten it all out. "I do not make weapons anymore, Fury. Nor does Stark Industries."

"Stark—"

"Give me a call if you want to convert the helicarrier over to arc reactor power or something." Tony spun on his heel, sauntering straight for the door.

"The U.N. and Nato aren't happy with the Avengers Initiative. They feel like it isn't enough, if another threat did come."

Tony paused, hand on the doorknob. He wasn't expecting Fury to surrender any information, much less an inkling of S.H.I.E.L.D. inner workings and motivations. The man's secrets had secrets. But there it was.

"As I already said, nuclear deterrent isn't the best route."

Fury sat back in his chair again, arms crossed. Tony could only see the man's frown from the corner of his eye and it was giving him the chills.

"We done here?"

Fury let out a sigh, giving a little wave. "How about _you_ call _me_ if your hands get antsy for a little destruction again?"

Tony yanked the door open, storming out.


	22. Part III Chapter II: Friends and Enemies

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, etc, etc.

**Author's Note: **I'm behind on my wordcount goals again, and since it's drawing close to the end of the month, that really isn't a good thing. Thankfully, though, Part 3 is going to be a very interesting ride, so the ball should start rolling pretty quickly again.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART III: BROKEN PROMISES**

**CHAPTER II: FRIENDS AND ENEMIES**

It was the first time their dysfunctional little family had gotten together with all members present, and Steve was quietly proud at being the one to instigate it. He'd decorated the room (with only a little bit of help) and invited everyone and even talked to the resident chef about making a big meal for everyone, though she needed Mr. Stark's approval to comply.

She'd gotten approval, and now there was a massive meal laid out on the round table, the colors vibrant and the smell enticing enough to even get a nod of approval from Mr. Stark, who honestly didn't seem to care about food one way or another.

"Is this truly all in my name?"

Steve smiled, rubbing at the back of his neck before he could stop himself. It was a nervous habit he needed to check. He let out a little laugh—another one of those habits—finally forcing himself to look up at Thor.

The big, blond Asgardian looked surprised, at least a little bit through all the seriousness on his face. A lot was happening for him, Steve completely understood that, but he was hoping he could at least make Thor feel at home, appreciated, maybe even get that big smile to come out. He'd heard that Thor had a friendly smile, but he'd yet to actually see it.

"Yeah. I mean, we don't know when we're going to see you next, so…"

"What he's trying to say is that it's kind of an Earth tradition to send a person off with a party." Mr. Stark stepped forward, voice loud, demanding attention. Steve frowned, but didn't correct him. Stark was right. "Here." Stark put a bottle in front of Thor, gesturing to it with one of his patented smiles. Thor actually tried to smile back.

Steve fought not to roll his eyes. They were all getting along. For once. He couldn't blow this.

"It's a… celebration to remember us by. Until you come back." Steve smiled as well, only garnering a nod from the Asgardian.

"Thank you, Captain, and all of you as well. It means much to me to know I will be missed in my absence."

Everyone gave their assent and sat down, digging in to the food. It was every bit as delicious as it looked, and by the end of it, everyone was smiling, even Clint.

0

Bruce took off his glasses, blinking rapidly as his eyes watered. He'd been staring at the scene entirely too long. None of it was making sense anymore. He sighed, saving all his progress and closing it out. "I think it's time to call it a night."

Tony hopped off the worktable, setting down the tool he was fiddling with. "Sounds good."

Bruce paused, hand hovering on the glass screen. Normally when Bruce called it a night, Tony kept working. It was a horrible habit, and Bruce teased him about it, but nothing had changed. Well, until now.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Perfect." Tony smiled, and Bruce felt it warm him all the way through. He looked down with a small smile of his own, finally pushing the computer terminal away.

"I… I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Bruce…"

Bruce looked up, worry his first reflex. He was always worried, hands fiddling with his reading glasses, gaze locking with Tony's. He saw the look in those eyes, warm and so open, just for him to see. He had nothing to worry about, smiling apologetically.

"Stay with me?"

That wasn't… Bruce started rubbing the lenses of his glasses, focusing on them. "I am. I mean, I just live a few floors down, and I'm not going anywhere—"

"That's not what I meant." Tony shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking up on his feet. He almost looked like a nervous kid asking a girl on a first date. It was cute. "I'm not really too good at the sleeping thing, and if you're there…"

Oh. Bruce held a hand out, Tony staring at it for a few moments, like he didn't know what to do with it. Bruce just waited, patient as ever, trying his best to smile confidently. That wasn't really his turf, it was Tony's, but someone had to do it right now.

"What are you waiting for?"

Tony took his hand slowly, wrapping their fingers together. He squeezed, relief loosening the tension Bruce could see in his shoulders. For the first time, Bruce got to see Tony's bedroom in the penthouse. It was luxurious, but simple, without a lot of clutter or personal things. It didn't look lived in.

The way Tony curled around him protectively in the bed, arc reactor both strangely cold and warm against his back, he knew Tony wanted to change that.

0

He passed his hand over his face, lifting errant strands of raven hair from his field of vision. The image of the Bifrost before him, glowing with his own radiant energy, shivered for a moment, shaking where it hung suspended in the middle of his chambers.

At some point, the light beyond his spacious windows had faded, leaving just the flickering flames at his room's entrance and the light of the projection itself, a headache blossoming behind his eyes because of it.

Loki let out a slow sigh, rubbing his fingertips against his eyelids. When he looked again, the diagram of the Bifrost was just a blur. He sliced his arm through it, the light dissipating in one fell swoop. The flames at the entrance flickered with the shift of power, guards moving uncomfortably.

"Are you finished for the night?"

He turned sharply, gaze shooting for the door. Thor stood framed by it, the light of the hall making him no more than a silhouette. Loki knew that form, though, knew that voice. He stood slightly straighter, lifting his chin proudly. "Perhaps. What of it?"

Thor lingered in the door, the tense air of uncertainty hovering about him. Loki frowned, taking a step closer.

"I did not expect your return to be so swift."

"There was no point in lingering on Midgard when there is so much to attend to here."

Loki raised an eyebrow at that. He had expected his br—Thor—to remain on Midgard at least long enough to visit the mortal he had grown so attached to. That was most intriguing. "Have you taken food, yet?"

Thor shook his head. "No."

He could not believe he was actually doing this. Loki collected himself, stepping towards the door. "Then perhaps we can sup together? I have yet to eat, either, and it has been a rather long day."

Thor broke into a bright grin, agreeing without a second thought. As always, Thor went first, and would ask later, only in hindsight. That was fine by Loki. He was not quite sure what his plan was yet, but there would be one.

They went to the kitchens, gathering leftover food from the palace meal that night. There was not much, but it would be enough to suffice. Thor rolled it all in a cloth, carrying it and a jug of mead as they walked.

The construction site of the new Bifrost was deserted, empty as the night fell upon Asgard inky black, nebulas spinning like dazzling ribbons overhead. It felt like it had been eons since he and Thor had gone out there on the Bifrost at night and shared a meal under the stars. While he was not entirely comfortable with the familiarity of it, he forced any complaints back.

It was only once they were in the process of eating the thinly carved meats, roast greens and bread that Loki dared break the precarious silence between them, choosing a topic he knew Thor would be keen to discuss.

"Before your departure, you promised to tell me of your comrades."

Thor looked up sharply, smiling around a mouthful of food. He quickly swallowed, no doubt forgetting to chew it all the way, and took a swig of mead to remedy that. He offered out the jug out, Loki waving it off. He wished to keep his mind perfectly clear for this. It was not often he was willingly offered information about his enemies.

"Who do you wish me to start with?"

"The metal man." Loki answered to quickly, it seemed, as Thor gave him a frown. Loki ignored it. "He is an intellectual equal. Am I not allowed curiosity?"

Thankfully, Thor did not answer that, instead taking another swig of the jug, starting his tale.

And what a tale it was. A man who had created a new technology to keep himself alive, secluded and isolated, with only scraps? A man who had created an element never seen upon Midgard before when none of those local would suit his purposes?

For the first time in years, Loki did not interrupt his brother once, listening in silence as Thor spun his tale, even if the blond did not understand half of it. That was fine. Loki understood all too well.


	23. Part III Chapter III: The Calm Before

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, etc, etc.

**Author's Note: **It is interesting posting this up on tumblr (at kysis-the-bard) as well as on AO3 (I'm KysisTheBard on there, too) and seeing the different reactions to everything. Plus, the cross-exposure is helping my muse, because the reviews, man, THE REVIEWS.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART III: BROKEN PROMISES**

**CHAPTER III: THE CALM BEFORE**

Clint took in a deep breath, pulling back the bow string. The fingers of his left hand quivered, finger-guard digging in to calloused fingertips. He reached back, hooking his fingers on the left side of his jaw. His right eye closed, right staring down the arrow at the target down the range.

He lifted slightly, adjusting for distance. Letting out his breath, he released.

The arrow flew, hitting the tiny red X on the target with a distance-muffled thud.

Not pausing, Clint drew another arrow. Normal tip. Aluminum-titanium alloy shaft. He repeated the process, only having the arrow drawn for a moment before releasing with the whoosh of his breath.

With a grinding shriek, the arrow split its predecessor, splintering it around the new shaft.

Clint finally cracked a self-satisfied smirk, lowering his compound bow. He slapped the button on the half-wall beside him. With a mechanical whir, the target was pulled towards him on pulleys. Clint yanked it down, setting it with the others.

He'd nailed it ten times in a row. If that wasn't satisfying, Clint didn't know what could be.

Clint hung up another target, pressing the button. It powered back into place, Clint drawing back again, sending the arrow into the little x while the target moved backwards. He drew, firing. Split. He drew again, firing one more time. It only split halfway down. Still good enough.

The target clicked into place, hanging there, already filled with three arrows all on the same tiny point.

"Impressive."

Clint lowered his bow, gaze sliding over though he didn't turn his head. He knew it was Natasha, assumed she would be in the black of her uniform if she was out in at the training facilities. She stepped into the lane next to his, eyes barely above the line of the partial wall between them. Even so, he could see the smile in her eyes.

She put on the safety goggles, then the obnoxious blue earmuffs. Clint sighed, putting his own on. He'd been the only one in the range, so it hadn't really mattered, but now that someone else was here…

A human shaped target drifted back from her lane, swinging on the pulley system. She lifted her gun, Clint hearing the muffled click as she loaded a clip and cocked it.

Clint hit his button again, and his target starting back the moment hers clicked into place. He pulled down his last target in time to see her shots.

Each bullet clipped through a place with an artery, starting with the legs, the arms, then the neck. Each shot was enough to be fatal. The last bullet was between the eyes. She glanced over with a smile.

"Very nice."

Tasha rolled her eyes, pressing her button. Clint had only brought fifteen boards down with him, so he was done. He craned his head, glancing over the wall. Seemed like Tasha had only brought the one.

She took off her earmuffs, hanging them. She pulled down her target and rounded the station, helping with his without even asking. As per protocol, they'd have to turn them in. Between the two of them, they got all the targets at once.

There was something wrong. Tasha was always good at hiding it, but he could tell.

"What's—"

"There is a small group of protestors outside of Stark Tower." She spoke in clipped tones, not even missing a beat as she slung the targets up onto the counter. The man working it just stared. They were both used to it by now. "They were there last night, in time for the evening news to interview them. There are more now because of it."

"What do they want?"

Natasha looked down, red lips pursed. "Accountability."

0

"…_is partly cloudy with a thirty percent chance of afternoon showers."_

Tony let out a long yawn, stretching. That felt good. He sat up slowly, soft sheets pooling around his waist. Jarvis had the weather report displayed on the floor to ceiling windows, right next to the stock market report for Stark Industries.

"_Good morning, Sirs. I was wondering when you might return to the land of the living."_

Tony opened his mouth to shoot something back, but stopped, glancing down. Bruce was lying next to him, glasses perched on his nose, tablet in his hands. Oh wow. "How long have you been up?"

Bruce gave a small smile. "Not too long." He kept moving stuff around the screen, looking uninterested but concentrating fully on it. Tony glanced at the screen, then sighed. He needed coffee before he could deal with this.

Standing, he stretched again, walking past the windows. Jarvis changed the display as he went, pulling up the morning news. He wasn't interested. "Jarvis, get some coffee on."

"_It is already finished brewing, Sir. I believe you will need it today._"

Tony stopped, turning. The projection on the glass ended, revealing Manhattan beyond that. Tony approached the window slowly, frowning. Everything looked normal. It was a little overcast, but that was good. They really needed the rain.

He stepped to the edge, toes touching the cold glass. Tony touched his forehead to the window, looking down.

The streets were clogged around the Tower, writhing with movement. Tony frowned, squinting. It looked like they were holding signs.

"Jarvis, what the hell is going on down there?"

"_I believe that is what's called a protest._"

Tony closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. He never should have made Jarvis sarcastic. "Jarvis, I was a complete rundown of the situation." Tony stepped away from the window, looking back to Bruce. He was sitting up now, worry flashing across his features.

He knew what he was thinking. People had come for him before. They had come for Tony before, too, though in different ways. That was a few years ago. He frowned. He was definitely going to need that coffee.


	24. Part III Chapter IV: Plan of Attack

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, etc, etc.

**Author's Note: **Something hit me like a blinding flash today. I realized I was stalling. Trying to hold off the coming storm. Well, no more holding back now. Sorry guys. It was nice and all, but I was really doing this story no justice. So let's get on with it.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART III: BROKEN PROMISES**

**CHAPTER IV: PLAN OF ATTACK**

He was the last one to enter the meeting room, tablet tucked under his arm, coffee cup held like a weapon before him, still steaming despite the long trek there. Everyone turned to look at him, each with a different expression, though really, they made up a startling whole.

Steve was worried. It shown bright in his blue eyes, in the tension on his face. His fingers were crossed together, no doubt to stop himself from fidgeting like a child about to get grounded.

Natasha was interested. Her face was completely blank, but there was the slightest purse to her lips, a glint in her own eyes, which spoke volumes. She wanted to see what was about to happen, even if she wasn't about to start jumping up and down.

Clint might as well have been jumping up and down. His shoulders were jolting just slightly, enough to tell him the archer's leg was bouncing under the table. His expression perked up a little at Tony's entrance, though not with excitement. It was closer to apprehension.

Agent Maria Hill was giving him the same sort of look people gave venomous snakes, coiled and ready for an attack.

Bruce's pinched, worried expression softened a little at his entrance, a ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He quickly looked down again, polishing his glasses, a nervous habit which drew a few glances from the others who were still tiptoeing around him like a land mine.

Tony took this all in without skipping a step, walking right up to the front of the room where Nick Fury was standing. The man's face was hard as usual, with the 'you better not be wasting our time' look radiating off him. Tony quirked an eyebrow at him, taking a sip of his coffee with a smirk.

"Take a seat."

"Stark, this had better be—"

"I said take a seat." Tony repeated himself, not even glancing at the man. He didn't have time for this. Tony set his tablet down at the head of his table, not relinquishing his coffee yet. He'd been running for a day straight, and the number of people out in the street around the tower had only doubled.

This needed to get this done _now_.

Finally, Fury rounded the table, taking up the chair next to Bruce, where Tony would normally be. That's where he wanted to be, but there were more pressing matters.

Tony glanced at the wall sized screen behind him, frowning at the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo behind him. It reminded him of the Iron Eagle of Germany. Frown deepening, he finally set his cup down with one last sip, fingers flying on his tablet.

Agent Hill sat forward, watching closely, or at least trying to. Tony knew he was moving between screens to fast for her to know what he was doing.

A dialogue box popped up on the screen behind him, reading in bold letters 'Greetings, Mr. Stark'. Tony quirked a half-smirk, continuing to type. He put a still shot of the protest up on the screen to start with, straightening.

"So, as you all should have noticed by this point, there is a protest going on outside." Tony gestured at the screen, turning to look at it himself. There were all sorts of people in that crowd, some in corporate suits, others in what looked like multi-generation hand-me-downs. Every color, every creed. It was a nice sampling of the American melting pot, really.

There was a discordant kind of assent in the room, everyone affirming in their own way. Fury's was a displeased grunt, just fueling Tony to keep going.

"This protest started three, maybe four days ago? Not really sure on the timeline yet. Speaking of a timeline," Tony looked pointedly at Natasha, "this isn't really the start of it at all, is it?"

Fury sat forward, exchanging a _look_ with Agent Hill. He didn't like that at all.

Tony bent, typing again. The images changed, to a grainy photograph of one Natasha Romanoff walking into an old monastery in what could only be described a dress-suit. It was the same sort of stuff she wore while she was posing as a Stark Industries employee.

"A few months ago, our very own Agent Romanoff was off in Paris—"

"This is classified material, Mr. Stark." Fury moved to stand, Tony quickly pointing straight at him with a glare.

"Don't start with me, Fury."

"More than that, this is _sensitive_ material. You can't just—"

"Oh come on." Tony grabbed his cup, taking another swig. It was almost empty. He should have brought a thermos. "Let's go a round, right now. I'm confident I've got more dirt on you than you have on me. Take the shot."

Silence fell over the room. Tony could practically feel the tension. He took another sip of his coffee, letting his gaze drift over everyone. No one would look at either of them.

Finally, Fury sat back in his seat, watching impatiently.

Tony didn't have to be told twice.

"Natasha was in Paris, where there was a meeting of nations. She was inserted into these meetings to keep an eye out on what's going on. Because really, what's the point of having spies if you don't use them?" Tony winked at Natasha, getting an eye roll in response. He went back to typing, pulling up her full, unedited report to S.H.I.E.L.D., which she submitted upon returning to NYC.

Agent Hill looked absolutely alarmed, but didn't speak up. Good girl.

Tony straightened, waving his coffee cup at the screen. "In this report, it states that there is a lot of strife going on right now. And I don't mean the usual 'who has the bigger dick' stuff. No. This is the 'one guy has too big of a dick and we need to put a stop to' it kind of talk."

No one even flinched at his phraseology. He was kind of disappointed, but didn't have time to linger on it.

Tony flipped the screen back to the reports of protests, not just the one currently raging outside the Stark Tower, but ones all over the United States, across Europe, the Middle East, Asia, Africa.

"As you can all see, this is getting a little out of hand." Tony finished his coffee, rolling his lips together, savoring the last drops. He set his cup down, crossing his arms. "Each demonstration is a little different, but they are all really saying the same thing."

"Do you care to enlighten us on what that is, Stark?"

"Checks and balances." Tony shot a glare at Fury, practically begging him to talk again. The Director didn't, though, watching with actual interest now. Tony was glad he'd finally gotten the man's undivided attention. "Yeah, so there was an alien attack. Cool. People don't care. What they care about is there was a secret government organization that just so happened to have a team of super-humans hidden away to stop it."

Clint grated out a sigh. Tony was right there with him on it. He'd been through this dance before.

"People don't like that. They want to know who's going to be on their side of the ring when the next fight is. They want to know there will be someone to shoulder the blame when shit goes wrong and hits the fan."

The silence was understanding now. It hit like a wave, rippling across everyone, touching them each in a different way.

"They want accountability." Natasha broke the quiet, her hushed words like a jackhammer on glass. Tony took a deep breath, nodding.

"What are you suggesting we do about it, Stark?"

Tony tapped lightly on his arc reactor, only thinly concealed by a t-shirt, then stopped. Everyone was watching him again. Thankfully, he'd come prepared for this.

"Give them something." Tony could see the surprise, and held his hands up, to keep them all quiet for a minute. There'd be time for a Q&A session as soon as he was done. "I've been in the news non-stop for the past… okay, for a long time, most recently with the Senate asking for some 'accountability' on my part. I brushed it off. That's what people are used to from me."

"Are you trying to tell me you're just going to 'brush it off' again?"

"No." Tony gave a small smile, meeting Steve's gaze now. The supersoldier had been quiet this whole time. Surprisingly. Steve was usually the first one to speak up against him. "There's one person in here who is used to rallying the troops and gaining support."

Steve sat up, brows knitting in. Tony couldn't help but wink again. He really wished he'd gotten some video footage of Steve's little Captain America rallies from WWII. That was skirting away from the point, though. Back on topic.

"The world already knows my face, and assumes that I will never actually take accountability. It hurts." Tony pouted, putting a hand on his chest, then gave a little laugh. "But there are other members of our lovely little team, and let's face it, Rogers would be a damn good poster boy for us."

"Thanks." Steve mumbled that, looking down.

"Frankly, he's the only one of us who has a completely positive history with the press, and we'd be stupid not to use it."

All attention turned on Steve. He seemed to be fighting between a smile and frown, but finally looked up, giving a resolute nod.

"Alright. What do I have to do?"


	25. Part III Chapter V: Momentum

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, etc, etc.

**Author's Note: **And here. We. Go.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART III: BROKEN PROMISES**

**CHAPTER V: MOMENTUM**

They had constructed a little stage for him, small compared to the ones he had been used to, but a stage none-the-less. There was a podium on it, for him to put notes if he needed them. He'd been practicing in front of his bathroom mirror for hours, had the speech memorized backwards and forwards, but kept the notes anyway.

It was around five when he got the call. It was just in time for the evening news. That was the plan.

Steve pulled on his gloves, flexing his fingers in the red dyed leather. With a deep breath, he pulled the mask up over his face, wiggling it until it sat right on his nose and around his eyes. He looked in the mirror one last time.

Captain America stared right back at him. He smiled. He could do this.

Grabbing his notes, he got in the elevator, closing his eyes so he didn't have to see the moving illumination on the floor number. It felt like forever, and he would know, but he did his best not to fidget. He had been before crowds before. He had done ridiculous things before crowds before. This would be a snap. Really.

The elevator doors dinged open, unveiling the lobby of Stark Tower.

There were hundreds of people outside. Their signs bobbed in the air, making an angry sea of paper and fists. Through the glass, he could feel their chant.

"What do we want?"

"Accountability!"

"When do we need it?"

"Now!"

Steve licked his lips, staring out at them. This was a mob situation waiting to happen. He could see all the warning signs, hear the alarm bells ringing in his brain. This couldn't be a good idea.

A foot stuck in the elevator door, stopping it from closing. Mr. Stark slipped half in, giving him a one over. "Come on, Cap, show's waiting." He gave a camera ready smile, but it wasn't at all reassuring. Stark was used to being thrown in shark infested waters. This wasn't Steve's arena at all.

Stark waved at him, still keeping up that smile. Steve stepped out of the elevator slowly, camera flashes greeting him. He blinked, fighting not to reach up and shield his eyes. Stark put an arm around his shoulder, squeezing hard.

Right. Smile.

Stark led him through the lobby, out the massive front doors. There was the stage, a line of police officers keeping the crowd back from it. At the base of the stairs, Stark gave him a clap on the shoulder, leaning in to whisper, "We believe in you." He gave a thumbs up, then stood to the side, hands in his suit pockets like nothing in the world was wrong.

Steve kept his smile on, climbing the steps. The chant died slowly, until everyone was silent. He couldn't tell if they were surprised, amazed, confused. There were too many camera flashes, too many people holding up cell phones, too many actual news cameras and microphones. Everyone was holding their breath.

He set his notes on the podium and tapped the microphone with a grin. "This thing working?"

The crowd gave a little laugh, and Steve responded with a big, honest smile. He could work a crowd. He'd done it all over the USA before. This was nothing.

"So, you guys and gals might know me as Captain America. There's been a lot of footage of me on television and the internet." He glanced down at the notes, then back up again, licking his lips. They felt really dry. Exposed. "Footage of me fighting against the alien invasion here in Manhattan, and of me helping lead the police response to the attack. I'm sure you've all seen it if you're here."

He let out a little laugh, gripping the podium hard. Everyone was staring at him, posters and banners still for a moment, like they were all holding their breath.

Cameras flickered, flashes making spots appear in his vision. He blinked a few times, clearing his throat quickly.

"That was not the first time I served this great nation in a time of need. And with God as my witness, it won't be the last."

"You're just a freak in a mask!"

"No ma'am." Steve smiled again, reaching up. He pulled off his mask, pushing it back. He shook his head and straightened his hair, knowing there were tons of cameras flickering, at least a hundred, all soaking it in. "I'm actually Captain Steve Rogers of the U.S. Army. I was recruited for an experimental treatment to make something greater than a normal soldier, in case something greater than a normal villain threatened our way of life."

Steve took a deep breath, hands clenching. He ignored the notes. There was no way to prepare for something like this. Even the best laid plans would have fallen apart.

"That was in World War Two. That was when the world had a shred of its innocence intact. Innocence isn't lost. It's taken. Throughout history, people have tried taking away humanity's innocence time and again. That attack was no different. And I won't stand for it. Because as long as there is something worth avenging in this world, I will be here, standing strong, a shield for the helpless, for those who weren't given a serum to make them stronger and faster, to defend that innocence until it's permanently safe or I'm dead."

No one was talking, not even hushed whispers. The flashes of the cameras faded to nothing. He could see microphones drooping, arms sagging as they lowered cell phones. Signs vanished into the crowd.

Steve took a shaky breath, staring out over them.

It was easy to spot movement in the stillness of the crowd, a single woman moving forward against the sea of stone-still bodies. She stopped just behind the police barricade, looking straight up at him.

Her eyes were rimmed in red, cheeks swollen from crying. She stared straight up at him, regardless, the strength of her gaze like a white hot beam.

"If you say that you're trying to protect us, trying to protect Earth, then why did you stand by and do _nothing_ when the villain who took our innocence left? Why did you stand by and let a murderer, a would be dictator, escape out into space without having to pay for his crimes?"

Here it was.

Murmurs echoed throughout the crowd, shaking his core. Microphones lifted again, a camera flashing from far right.

He could hear footsteps behind him. Stark stepped up onto the stage, sliding in front of the podium. He leaned in close to the microphone, anger coloring his every word.

"How about you get your facts straight? Loki is being punished. Right now. By his own people."

"How do you know that?" The woman tried to smile, but it cracked. "Do you see it? Or have you just heard?"

Tony took a deep breath; it whistled against the microphone. The murmurs were growing.

The police offers at the front of the barricade were saying something to her. One of them reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off, pointing straight at them.

"We don't want heroes!" She planted her feet, screaming. "We want justice!"

The crowd surged forward, barricade buckling. Tony turned, grabbing him by the arm. Steve stumbled, then started after him, glancing over his shoulder as the first gunshots rang out.


	26. Part III Chapter VI: Hatred

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, etc, etc.

**Author's Note: **Sorry these chapters are so short. They are coming hard and fast. Section 4 will have obscenely long chapters, though, if my outline is anything to go by.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART III: BROKEN PROMISES**

**CHAPTER VI: HATRED**

The Bifrost shimmered with light, flickering, but it was still there. It was faintest at the palace, the colors barely moving at all. For a moment, he thought he had been staring at it too long, that his vision began to swim, but as he walked, it became stronger, each step lighting up like the great bridge was alive once more.

Thor quickened his pace. Asgard faded into a golden blur around him, swift steps becoming small leaps and bounds as he raced through arches and hanging gardens, past the warrior's hall and the grand temples.

Water surged past beneath his quick feet, the deep water currents and peaks matching the multicolored thrum of the Bifrost, pulling him along faster.

Twinkling in the last light of the day stood the great dome of the gateway, its curved door wide open.

Thor's steps slowed. He stopped, staring at it. The great transportation needle pointed straight up, still, every intricate engraving upon it glinting. He looked down, through the doorway, where everything was just as still.

His mouth felt incredibly dry. He glanced over his shoulder, squinting against the distance. In the high towers of the palace he could see a flickering light from his brother's window, and faintly, just a tiny spot, a moving shadow.

Letting out a shaky breath, Thor turned back to the gateway, squaring his shoulders before he began to walk. Each footfall buzzed with a familiar energy, glowing a bright white as all the colors in the Bifrost's spectrum faded beneath his weight. He put a hand on Mjölnir's hilt, the hum of it soothing his frayed nerves.

The central chamber was how he remembered it, vast and ornate and filled with the promise of other worlds. There, at the portal itself, stood Heimdall, back straight, face empty as his amber eyes gazed into the abyss of space.

Thor approached him slowly, even more worried when Heimdall did not so much as move at his presence.

"What do you gaze at so intently, Heimdall?"

Heimdall did not move other than the tightening of his face, the clenching of his hands on the hilt of his mighty sword. Even that much spoke volumes. Heimdall very rarely showed anything at all, his gaze always far away, always at ready should a single voice be raised against Asgard. He would know. He always knew.

Thor stood beside him, casting a worried glance into the abyss. He swallowed roughly, looking away. He could not gaze into that vastness without thinking of Loki's hand releasing its grip on the scepter.

"What do you see?"

"I see hatred." The monotone words reverberated through the chamber, a slow creeping chill crawling up his spine. Thor shivered, though the energy of the gate radiated heat.

"Where?"

"Midgard. It is alight with the flames of hatred. Even as I gaze upon other realms, I can feel its heat."

Thor's hand shook on Mjölnir's shaft, knuckles turning white.

He had sworn to protect Midgard. He had sworn to make sure that world was safe, along with all its denizens from any threat which might come along.

He never imagined that threat might be itself.

"What do they hate?" Thor whispered the words, even as he feared them, and the answer they would bring.

"Loki."

Thor closed his eyes, squeezing them tight as a tremor took his body. He turned. He could not stay here, not with that knowledge. He had to warn the Allfather. He had to warn his brother.

"The Avengers."

He stopped in the gateway, swiveling slowly. "What?"

"Their hatred knows not good from ill, only what they label justice."

"The Avengers saved them!"

Heimdall did not move, amber gaze flicking across the stars, seeing past them.

"They hate that they had not the choice to know what is beyond the stars, but that it was forced upon them." Heimdall's tone did not change, not much. Still, Thor could hear the sadness in it. "They seek to place blame."

"So they blame their saviors?"

"They were not ready."

"Not ready for _what_?"

"Salvation."

0

Even though the room was full, it was quiet. Through the expansive windows, he could faintly hear the sounds of sirens. Or maybe it was just the red and blue lights playing across the buildings, playing tricks on him.

"What happened down there?"

Natasha was the one to break the silence. She always was. Bruce glanced up at her, then over to Steve. He was sitting at the breakfast bar, staring blankly into the kitchen, his hands held out on the counter like something would appear in them, like there was some answer there in the red leather.

Bruce finally dragged his gaze to Tony, who leaned on the back of the couch next to him. Tony's arms were crossed, but he had that same distant look in his eyes.

Neither of them spoke.

Bruce reached over, carefully unwinding Tony's arms. He clasped his hand, squeezing. He didn't care that everyone was staring at them. No one would ask questions right now. There were bigger fish to fry.

He squeezed again. Tony sucked in a deep breath, blinking like he had just woken up from a dream. From the look on his face, he could tell it wasn't a good one.

"Tony, what happened?"

Tony hung his head. Slowly, he reached in his pocket, pulling out his phone. "JARVIS, lights to 20%."

There was none of the usual conviction in his voice. None of the usual life. Bruce clutched his hand tighter, afraid that if he let go, Tony would dissolve between his fingers. Tony didn't seem to notice. He pressed a few buttons on his phone and it projected onto the blank wall across the room, everyone but Steve and Tony watching. It was like they had already seen enough.

The angle of the footage suggested the security cameras on the front of Stark Tower, though the sound was too sharp for that. Tony must have been recording the sound from his phone. That wouldn't surprise him.

When the woman stepped forward, Steve's head sank into his hands and Tony closed his eyes, breaths short and ragged.

Every good thing Steve had said—and there was so much good in his speech—was unraveled in a matter of seconds. They tried to recover. Bruce leaned into Tony's side, trying to give him some reassurance, but he just stared down at his phone, a nightmare in his eyes.

The projection cracked and then turned to static.

"What was that?" Natasha breathed out the question, red brows drawing in. She stepped closer to the projection, head tilted to the side. "Can you rewind?"

Tony slid his finger back across the blue screen, and the footage rewound.

There was a gunshot, and the projection cracked, going to static again.

Someone had shot at them. Someone had shot at the heroes who had saved Manhattan, one of whom stopped a Tesseract-fueled radiation fallout catastrophe by downing the plane he was in, with no hope of being rescued, the other of whom had grabbed a live nuclear warhead and flown it into space, when he was certain it would be a one way trip.

Bruce stared at the static screen before it became too much. He grabbed the phone from Tony's lip hand, pressing the screen until it stopped projecting.

"Fury will want to do a full debriefing in the morning." Natasha stood from her chair at the table, looking them each over. "Everyone should get some rest. Especially you two."

Natasha and Clint were the first to leave. It was probably fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, before Steve finally slid off his stool, pressing the down button on the elevator. Bruce didn't question it. It wasn't until the door closed that he pulled at Tony's hand, leading him up the stairs.

Neither of them asked Jarvis to turn on the lights. They walked slowly, Bruce leading, steps slow, careful. He could feel how Tony was dragging his feet through the connection of their hands. Bruce kept going. He had to keep going.

Even when they were in the bedroom, Tony didn't move. He stood there, that blank stare hurting. Bruce took off Tony's tie, his suit jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, unbuckled his pants.

Tony crashed into him like a freight train, lips urgent, searing hot against Bruce's jaw, mashing painfully into his lips. Bruce's bracelet beeped as his heart rate spiked.

With shaking hands, Bruce tore off the bracelet, then his own shirt. Tony's hands were everywhere. They were shaking. He grabbed Bruce hard, hard enough to bruise. Bruce didn't stop him.

They barely hit the bed, limbs tangled, rough hands combing through his hair, teeth scraping his neck, his shoulder. Bruce threw his head back as Tony pushed into him, rocking with a feral sort of desperation. Short nails dragged across his back, pulling him tighter, so tight it felt like they would fuse.

Tony came with a cry, burying his face into Bruce's shoulder. He stayed there, quaking, sweat cooling on their skin. Bruce didn't try to move him. His shoulder was wet. Bruce wrapped his arms tighter around Tony, rubbing a hand up his back, each stroke slower until Tony stopped shaking, falling asleep.

He could still hear that gunshot, in the back of his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see that bullet colliding with the camera.

Bruce nuzzled his face into Tony's hair, refusing to let go. He wouldn't be able to sleep. He didn't want to. The Other Guy didn't want him to either. Bruce could hear his roars of rage echoing behind each crack of that gunshot, and he couldn't go to sleep, because Tony might be gone.


	27. Part III Chapter VII: Boiling Point

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, etc, etc.

**Author's Note: **This might as well be writing itself at this point.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART III: BROKEN PROMISES**

**CHAPTER VII: BOILING POINT**

She tied the scarf under her chin with deft fingers, craning her neck to secure it. It effectively concealed the communicator at her ear, as well as most of her hair, though a few crimson locks still jutted out. That was fine. She grabbed the large, black sunglasses, pushing them over her eyes. Slowly, carefully, she reapplied her lipstick, the lines smooth and perfect. It was the shade of blood.

She wouldn't be recognizable, in a black dress with a long black coat over it, tied at the waist, sleek black leather gloves and matching heels.

Natasha turned from the mirror, hands in her pockets. No one looked at her as she passed. Everyone was on edge. The S.H.I.E.L.D. floor's usual hum of activity was just a faint buzzing, mostly caused by that many computers in an enclosed space. She could hear the news broadcasts being played over before the elevator shut.

The Stark Tower was on lockdown. Only necessary personnel were allowed into the building. No one was allowed out without a security escort. She had her ways. Natasha watched as the floors lit up on the display, number shrinking. The light disappeared at the ground level, the elevator continuing down into unmarked territory.

The elevator opened to plain concrete walls and thick pylons. She stepped out, the click of her heels echoing as she walked. The security level was thriving, hidden like an ant hill and just as busy, right beneath everyone's eyes. Natasha lifted her security badge as one man addressed her, not stopping, not even taking her other hand out of her pocket.

They let her pass. She hurried down a stairwell, rounding a corner. There was a metal door with a security pad. She typed in her number, swiping her card. After a few moments, she heard the lock snap. She yanked open the door, slipping inside quickly.

The lights came on, flickering at first, though soon everything was blown out with white fluorescents. A thin layer of dust covered the floor. No one had been there since the space had been remodeled. She kept walking, barely glancing to the side as she passed one holding cell after another.

The biggest was at the end of the room, circular, reinforced glass with a thin, almost invisible titanium alloy weave inside it. It was designed to buckle, to give, but not break. There was a patrician in the middle, specifically designed for an interrogator to be inside and still be safe.

Natasha looked down, pursing her lips. With how things were going, it felt like any one of them could end up in there.

Shaking her head, she turned left, down another hallway and set of stairs. She swiped keyed her number again, swiping her card. Three security doors later and she was in the Stark Industries parking garage, a few blocks from the Tower itself.

She smiled to herself as she wound her way through the complex, slipping out on a side street.

Natasha pressed lightly against the side of her head, like she was trying to muffle the noise of the street, talking quietly. "I'm out."

The other side of the line crackled, then finally her response came. "_I'm in position. I've got a good view of the protestors from here. The crowd seems pretty docile right now._"

"I'm flagging down a cab now." She raised her hand, waving. The yellow car slowed, pulling over at the first available gap. She walked over slowly, sliding in the back seat. "Central Park, please."

The man leaned back over his seat with a frown. "Joinin' in the protest?"

Natasha gave him a smile, but didn't say anything.

He grumbled, and pulled back into traffic. Natasha watched the buildings go by with mock interest. It was a week day, and not during the usual lunch hour, so it was quieter than she liked. There were not as many people to blend in among. She pursed her lips, staring at her own reflection on the glass. She could be any one of them. They wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

Paying, she slipped out of the cab.

Metal barricades ringed the park, police officers in full riot gear patrolling the perimeter. Natasha whisked an errant strand of hair back, glancing up at the rooftops. She couldn't see Clint, but he was there somewhere, watching, ready.

She really hoped he wouldn't be needed.

Tucking her purse tight under her arm, she slipped through the barricade, walking straight for the throng of people.

Signs littered park benches and the ground, people lounging on the grass and against trees. Clusters of people ate. She wound her way past them, listening to each little conversation. People were talking about the weather, about sports, about what they ate the night before. She ducked her head, carrying on faster.

The center of the group was near.

They had set up a table, people leaning over it, writing in bold marker and paints on any bit of cardboard brought to them. She skirted around the edge of them, pausing at one of the gaps.

One of the women turned. Natasha recognized her from the press conference. She smiled, and the woman smiled back, waving for her to come closer.

"You want a sign?"

Natasha nodded, clutching her purse tighter. She approached with slow steps. The woman laughed, a small laugh. Her cheeks were still puffy. Natasha kept it up, the persona of a shy but concerned civilian, afraid to stand up, but there anyway. She looked away, out at the street. There was a glint on the rooftop. Her eyes were concealed, so it looked like she was just considering leaving.

"It's okay. We have a First Amendment Right to free speech." The woman laid a hand on her shoulder. Natasha smiled again. The woman pulled lightly, guiding Natasha over to the table. "You been watching the news?"

"Can't escape it." Natasha shrugged, looking down at the signs.

Justice. Accountability. No more secrets.

She took it all in quickly, filing it away from later. The button on her jacket was recording. Everyone in the control room would be able to see it.

"That's great." The woman let out a half laugh, smoothing out a piece of bent cardboard. She started writing up another sign.

Natasha leaned over, acting interested. No one suspected.

"What do you want to happen?" Natasha turned just slightly, so the hidden camera would be able to see the woman's face. She'd be put in a database with all the others once she got back. "What's our end goal?"

The woman's smile fell for a moment. She tapped the marker on the cardboard. "They need to bring the war criminal back, so he can be put on trial." She let out a shaky sigh, writing again with harsh, hard-pressed strokes.

Natasha knew. Loki had killed someone the woman loved. Maybe just the army, maybe just all the damage and destruction around it, but in the end, it was Loki's fault. Eighty people in two days, before the invasion even started; which one was her's?

"Do you think that will make everyone happy?"

The woman closed her eyes, shoulders shaking. Natasha held her ground, voice stronger this time.

"Will it?"

"None of us have any closure and—"

"Killing him won't bring any of them back."

The market snapped, little cracks running up its shaft. Natasha glanced back up at the roof. She rolled her lips together, carefully not to smudge her lipstick. That didn't release any of the tension. Far from it.

She needed to get out of there.

There were people all around them now, pressing in close to hear. They were waiting with baited breath, waiting for the crash to happen. Human curiosity was a morbid trait. It didn't do any of them a service.

"It's a start."

Natasha shook her head. "What, so he takes someone from you, so you return the favor?" She should stop. This wasn't her fight to pick. She stepped forward, voice seething. "Revenge and justice are two completely different things. I _know_, first hand, what revenge can do to a person."

"And what is that?"

"You'll never be able to get over the guilt. Never be able to wash the blood of your hands. It'll keep you up at night—"

The woman laughed. It was a horrible, broken thing. "Then nothing will be different."

"Hey lady, if you don't support the cause, get out!"

Natasha swung around, picking through the crowd. It was a sea of angry faces now. She saw a flash, something sharp. Natasha reached up with a shaking hand, pressing it to the side of her face. "Clint…"

"_When I say go, get under the table_."

"Okay."

The crowd pushed in. If she screamed, the police probably wouldn't even hear it.

It was good that she had other plans.

"_Go!_"

Natasha dropped, rolling. The arrow hit, slamming into the table. She could see the tip of it. Natasha spun her scarf around, over the lower half of her face, pulling the air filter up under it just as the cartridge exploded.

Smoke filled the air. People coughed, yelled, screamed.

Natasha got on her knees, crawling quickly between legs. The moment she was clear, she started running. She hopped over a small wall, ducking behind it. Quickly, she undid the scarf and mask, shoving them in her purse. She took off her glasses, wiping off her lipstick. Undoing her jacket, she folded it neatly over her arm and put another scarf around her neck, this one green.

No one noticed her in the chaos, no one noticed that she could have been the same person.

They had their answer now.

0

"_These protests are getting out of hand, Director Fury._"

He laced his hands behind his back, standing firm. The faces of the Council, mostly obscured in shadow, stared at him on flat blue screens. Though he could not see their eyes, he could see their frowns.

"_You asked us to trust you with the Avengers Initiative. Did you know what you were starting?_"

"The world wasn't ready."

"_There is violence in the streets. Something has to be done._"

"I'll make the call."

"_And you want us to trust your decision again?_"

"This is the only option we have left."

He reached forward, disconnecting the session. All of the screens flickered out, leaving just the glass of them behind.

It was time to make a very important call.


	28. Part III Chapter VIII: Helpless

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, feels getting punched. Hard.

**Author's Note: **I'd say I'm sorry again. I would. But at this point… no. I regret nothing. Other than punching my own feels while writing this. Because that just hurts.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART III: BROKEN PROMISES**

**CHAPTER VIII: POWERLESS**

The first experimental run of the Bifrost had yielded promising data. Loki stared at the diagram, complete now. Slowly, he reached into it, pulling off the outer shell, exposing all its inner workings. He turned the glowing diagram in his hands, the golden light of its lines reflecting in his eyes. There were only minor changes which needed to be made, Loki quickly finding the cylinders which needed to be a breath wider, editing the diagram with magic encased fingers.

Quickly, he put it back together, tapping the diagram. The device began to spin, needle pointing downwards, aiming. Loki held his breath as he watched, light gathering around the diagram. It was a spectacular representation, the finest details accounted for, enough that he could run tests on it.

Forging new cylinders would only take a day, and after enchanting them, they could replace the faulty parts. In two days time, they would be able to conduct the next experimental trial. Loki was certain it would work.

The doors swung open behind him, loud footsteps accompanied by the click of metal and metal alerting him.

Loki turned.

It was Thor. Who else would it have been? He had no visitors. No one dared disturb him. Or rather, no one wished to be disturbed by him. It was better that way.

Soon enough, the Bifrost would be complete, the terms of his service completed in what had to have been legendary time. He had heard the whispers around the banquet table, around the construction site. Wonder. There was nothing short of wonder in their words.

"What do you want, Thor?"

"Guards, leave us." Thor glanced at both of them, voice stern and commanding. The resolution Loki heard there was… surprising.

Loki let the diagram dissipate. He was certain he would need his full concentration for this.

The moment the guards were outside, the doors clicking shut, Thor started forward. Loki frowned, and Thor's steps stopped, keeping him a little further than arm's length away. It did not feel far enough.

Was that fear, he sensed?

Loki took slow steps, circling Thor. Fear was not a mantle Thor had worn in his presence before. It suited him ill. "What happened?"

Thor flexed his hand. Loki could see the imprint of Mjölnir's shaft upon his palm. Thor always took comfort in the weight of Mjölnir in his hand when there was something unsettling. It was like a worry stone.

"I fear."

Loki took a deep breath, those words, those two simple words, shaking him to his core. He flexed his hand, magic sparking across his fingers, soothing, just like the great uru hammer was to Thor.

"I do not think I will be able to protect you in the coming storm."

"What storm?" Loki stopped his slow circle, uncertainty flashing across his features before he could rein it in. He composed his mask, slipping it on like a second skin. "Have I not done everything the Allfather asked of me? Have I not given Asgard back its life-link to the Nine Realms? Done it a great service?"

Thor closed his eyes. His fingers brushed the hilt of his hammer again, a ghosting touch.

This was… this was bad. He could feel it in his bones. There was a sudden cold, gripping at his throat, clawing to drag him down.

"I protected you from the full wrath of our father. I…" Thor's hand slid down, carefully, fingers flexing over the grip. "Midgard. I fear I cannot protect you from the full wrath of Midgard."

"What have I to fear of the mortals?"

Thor's jaw tightened. Over the oppressive silence, Loki could hear the grind of teeth. "You saw firsthand how strong they could be."

"That was but a handful, and they gave their blessings." Loki turned towards his desk, straightening the stacks of Bifrost drawings and calculations which scattered the polished wooden surface. It was something to keep his hands busy. It was a futile attempt at distraction.

"Loki, please, you must trust me—"

"What would that do, Thor? Trust you, accept that my life is in peril, after everything I have done, that there is _nothing_ which could stop this? Am I to abandon all hope?" He clenched his fists, fighting hard to still the quakes which took him, to steel his heart.

"Loki—"

"Leave." Loki straightened his shoulders, lifting his head. He would take this with dignity. "If these are to be my last days here on Asgard, I would spend them in peace."

"No. We must speak with our father, warn him of what Heimdall saw."

"You have not spoken of this to the Allfather yet?"

Silence was answer enough. Loki should not have even asked. He knew Odin had council with the hall of warriors for the entire day, and would no doubt have wanted to spend the rest of his day in solitude.

"What does Midgard really want with me, Thor? What is it they seek?" Loki could guess, but he would rather just know, without a doubt. As soon as the Bifrost was finished, he would be a full citizen of Asgard again, and as such, he would be protected as one. Two more days. They needed two more days.

"Blood."

Of course. Loki cracked a smile, a small laugh escaping before he could help it. He leaned forward on the desk, hands gripping hard enough at the wood to indent it. "How many lives do you think I ruined?"

Once again, the silence was telling.

"Tell me, _brother_. How many? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? A thousand?"

"Enough."

Loki took a sharp breath. Enough. That spoke volumes. Enough to matter. Enough to hurt. Enough to be irreversible. Thor could mean any number of things with that, but none of them promised safety. In fact, they promised quite the opposite.

"You were safe in Asgard because the Allfather had a use for your skills." Thor let his hammer drop back down, swinging at his side. "It will not be the same in Midgard."

Loki spun, but Thor was already vanishing down the hall, guards returning to their posts. His only chance went with him.

0

His feet touched the ground before the helicopter did, boots crunching into the hard baked dirt. The sun had just gone down, leaving the desert landscape lit with an orange, almost radioactive looking glow. Thankfully, it only looked that way. It wasn't like they were down at White Sands.

New Mexico. Fury took in a deep breath, and it practically burned. It was hotter than hell out there, but he was still in his leather trench, well protected. As soon as the last light of the sun faded, it was going to get colder than Dante's version of hell out there.

He'd rather not be there when the temperature dropped, though, so he jogged away from the helicopter.

There, still pressed in the dirt, was an impression of the Bifrost. It was still intact. He wasn't surprised. He stepped out onto the pattern, stopping only when he was at its center.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his gaze to the emerging stars. They were really bright out there. As spectacular of a view as it was, he still had a strict schedule. Time to get on with it.

"Heimdall, I know you can hear me up there. I need you to deliver a message to the Allfather for me, and do it quick." Fury frowned up at the sky, hands tucked behind him. There was no answer, but he didn't exactly expect some thundering voice to come down on him or a portal to open up in the sky. Who knew how long it would take for their rainbow bridge to be done so they could prance on back to Earth, but this had to be done.

"We need Loki. In chains, preferably. If you don't provide him with some, we will, and it won't be pretty." Fury kept glaring. Finally, he sighed. "It was nice chattin' with you. I hope to hear back from you soon."

Fury gave a nod, then turned, walking back to the waiting helicopter. He guessed they would know soon enough if his call had gone through.


	29. Part III Chapter IX: A Safer World

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, feels getting punched. Hard.

**Author's Note: **Part 3 is almost over. Wow. It's just crashing down. All around me. It's wonderful.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART III: BROKEN PROMISES**

**CHAPTER IX: IN A SAFER WORLD**

Twenty holographic screens hovered around him, each moving with life, scrolling words and video footage. It was muted, but each of them spoke louder that way. Tony turned, one arm crossed over his chest, his other hand scratching idly at his beard.

"JARVIS, remove the files I have already reviewed."

Twelve screens vanished. Eight remained, hovering at different heights all around him, a digital halo.

"Let's start with the oldest, work our way up."

The square behind him grew, expanding until every detail was crystal clear, easy to read. Tony turned, facing it with a frown. He started reading.

0

The click of heels across the room made him sit up, correcting his posture. Pulling his glasses down, Bruce glanced over his shoulder.

That wasn't Natasha.

Pepper stood in the mouth of the hallway, a clipboard under her arm. She stared, face impassive. Bruce looked away quickly, smoothing out the newspaper in front of him.

If he concentrated hard enough, maybe she would assume he was busy.

There was no such luck.

Pepper sat on the stool at the far end of the counter, setting her clip board down lightly. There were two stools between them, like a safety barrier. Bruce couldn't tell if it was because she was afraid of him or because of Tony.

Bruce tried swallowing back the bitter taste in the back of his mouth, taking a long gulp from his water. She did not say anything, hands folded on the counter, facing the wall. Her posture was rigid, perfect, strawberry blond hair pulled back in a flawless ponytail. Bruce caught himself straightening his own unruly curls before he could stop himself.

"Dr. Banner…"

"Miss Potts…"

0

Tony flicked another screen out of the way, its crumbling into static before vanishing all together. Jarvis enlarged the next window, Tony standing absolutely still. He had a glass in his hand now, half full with ice, half with scotch. His lips rested on the rim as he read, eyes flicking over line after line.

Well, this report certainly explained where Clint and Natasha had been the other day. Tony frowned. It almost looked like S.H.I.E.L.D. was trying to bait the protestors into a full out mob.

He pointed a finger, flipping it up. The page scrolled, revealing the rest of the report. From the images interspersed, and the little video file, he knew it was his and Steve's favorite blond woman from the press conference. He took another sip, relishing in the burn as he swallowed.

The police had to move in after the smoke went off. Tony didn't like his designs getting used against civilians. That had been part of the contract, when he'd designed Clint's equipment. This wasn't right.

Tony flicked that report to the side as well, waiting for Jarvis to catch up. He needed to run an update on the system, add in a few more fail-safes and locks. He didn't trust S.H.I.E.L.D. being on the same server as Stark Industries.

0

Her hands were a better place to look than anywhere else. She hadn't planned on stopping here. She knew where Tony was. She had a stack of papers for him to sign. Time was ticking. She couldn't get up, though. Now that she was sitting here, had actually _addressed_ him, there was no turning back.

Pepper turned her hands over, staring at her nails for a moment. Bruce rustled his newspaper next to her. It was obvious he wasn't going to say anything more unless prompted, and she couldn't blame him. She hadn't exactly said a word to him since she'd broken it off with Tony.

She wondered how long it took for Tony to make his move. She was sure he'd been the one to do it. Bruce seemed pretty shy, reserved. She wouldn't have pegged him as the type to put out, and Tony had never really had patience for that.

It was a miracle they were still together.

She frowned, finally letting her gaze drift over. There was a bracelet on his left wrist. It looked like a watch at first, with its little glass screen, Stark Industries tech blue. The display had different sets of numbers, none of which matched the actual time.

The sight of it put a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Did he make that for you?"

0

He flicked another news report to the side. It was all the same story. He drained the last of his glass, balancing the empty thing on his arm as he watched the next panel pop up. Static showed on the screen, distorted voices speaking gibberish. Tony frowned.

"Encrypted?"

"_Yes, Sir. There are three levels of encryption on this file, as well as two security codes and a contingency to degrade the file if the first two levels of encryption are broken_."

Tony walked back over to the table, setting his glass down and picking up his tablet. "Challenge accepted."

0

Bruce touched the bracelet, running his fingers over the cool metal. His thumb ran over the emergency latch, but didn't open it. A quick glance at the numbers told him his heart rate and all his chemical levels were stable.

"Yeah."

He could feel her staring at the bracelet. He opened his mouth to explain, to make an excuse, but stopped.

Tony had said more than once that he needed to stop making excuses. He needed to stop running.

This situation was no different.

"He did."

"How sweet." There was a dark note to her words. "Was it a birthday?"

Bruce shook his head. "No. First date."

Her gaze flicked away for a moment, hands turning over again. "And how long did that take? A day?"

Bruce took a shaky breath. The first time they kissed, that had been… the day she broke up with him. That just made him feel horrible. "Two weeks, I guess. Maybe longer. I wasn't exactly counting down."

"Tony Stark waited two weeks for a date?"

He could hear the disbelief in her voice and it made him angry. His bracelet beeped. She didn't even jump.

0

Code unraveled at his fingertips, each layer of encryption unpeeling before him. Tony glanced up now and then, making sure he did not trigger the virus. The first layer had been quick, the second taking longer, each prod delicate, slow as to not trip any extra coding. He got in just far enough to find the code which would melt the original file and cut it off, isolating and destroying what must have taken months of work in the matter of minutes.

The third layer was like the first. No one had expected the second to be conquered.

Tony let out a dark laugh, pressing play on the file.

The faces of people materialized on screens, the silhouette of none other than Nick Fury standing before them. Tony's frown only grew as he listened.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was caving.

Tony grabbed the holographic screen, dropping it onto his tablet. Jarvis took the hint and loaded it up.

0

She took a deep, centering breath, lips pressed into a thin, defiant line as she stared at the kitchen faucet. Every time she looked over at the reserved doctor, she could feel her resolve crumbling. She had to save face.

After all, she had told Tony they could keep him. She had welcomed Bruce into the Stark Tower. She had even been glad when she saw them interact. Tony finally had someone who could keep up with his mind, someone who spoke his language.

Hadn't that blown up in her face?

Pepper tried to smile, even as she caught herself pressing on her bare ring finger. Right. Tony Stark. Notorious playboy. Pepper had taken out the trash more times than she could count, had seen the parade on the walk of shame out of his mansion for years. He wasn't the proposing type.

Then again, he'd never been the 'wait two weeks' type, either.

"Is it love?"

0

He threw the tablet down on the desk, towering over it. Fury turned in his chair slowly, looking from Tony's face down to the tablet with a raised eyebrow. Tony reached forward, pressing play. His stern glare didn't flicker, even as Fury's good eye widened and he sat forward with interest.

"Impressive."

"You know I'm not here to discuss my computer skills."

"No shit."

Tony clenched his fist, but didn't respond to that, letting the footage play back in whole. Fury didn't look all that interest, but humored him. As soon as it was done, the Director leaned back in his chair, training his one eye back on Tony.

He didn't flinch back, leaning forward. "Why?"

"I had to make a call."

Tony took in a seething breath, holding it. His heart was pounding, adrenalin gripping his system like an angry vice. "You gave in."

"I didn't have a choice."

"Bullshit you didn't, Nick. Come on, you know what this will lead to—"

"And what would that be, Mr. Stark?" Fury stared him down, not giving an inch. "To a long overdue trial of a war criminal?"

"It's more than that."

Fury gave a noncommittal shrug. "Then you'd better get ready."

Tony straightened, slowly. His fists still shook at his sides, nails digging red crescents into his palms. "What?"

"For our favorite Asgardian becoming a new resident of the Stark Tower."

"I don't think—"

"Don't act dumb, Stark. The security level is the only place I would actually trust to keep someone as dangerous as Loki. So you better start getting ready."

0

He lifted his glass, but it was empty. Bruce turned it in his hand, ice clicking against its walls. He tried to open his mouth, but nothing came out. His tongue felt heavy, like lead.

It was a simple question.

Or was it?

If it was really such a simple question, he wouldn't be feeling like he was walking around land mines.

There was that sticky note. The one with the heart. There had been other playful banter, all thinly veiled with numbers and equations, as if that would somehow make it safe. In a way, it did.

"I don't think this world is safe enough for that." Bruce set his glass down, sighing. "Not yet."

Pepper nodded in his periphery, slipping off her stool. He could hear the click of her heels fading. Bruce ran his hands up over his face, sagging into the counter.

He wasn't sure if the world would ever be that safe.


	30. Part III Chapter X: Broken Promises

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, feels getting punched. Hard.

**Author's Note: **Last chapter of part 3.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART III: BROKEN PROMISES**

**CHAPTER X: BROKEN PROMISES**

His own workshop had become an unfamiliar place. Tony stood at the head of his main work table, staring down at it with a clenched jaw. His shield prototype, schematics for it, and various parts covered the entire surface. It was a device to protect people.

The rest of his workshop was much the same. Devices to protect people. Ever since Afghanistan, that was all he had worked on. He had built a shield to protect those who could not protect themselves. Mark I-VII of the Iron Man suit was his shield.

He'd made a promise.

So had Fury.

Tony leaned down, shoving his arms across his worktable. Parts flew everywhere. The shield tipped over the edge, crashing to the floor. Everything clear, he pulled a roll of paper out, spreading it, marker flying with abandon as plan after plan appeared in bold black ink before him.

There was the promise of destruction in those equations. Every one of them.

He didn't stop. He never really had.

0

He could hear them coming for him.

Loki closed the tome before him, smoothing his hand over the intricate leather cover. He let out a slow breath, wetting his lips. He lifted his head, straightening his shoulders, his posture, staring at the gilded wall before him.

The footsteps of the guards were thundering, even beyond his closed door.

They were finally coming for him.

0

The hum of machines filled the silence, taking the place of the music which would normally be blaring through the speakers. Bruce stood in the doorway, gaze quickly sweeping over the workshop. He couldn't see Tony, but he could hear the shower running.

Bruce took a step inside. There were parts everywhere. He knelt, fingers brushing across the tiny arc reactor he had helped Tony make, then the shield he had been working on for what felt like months.

Carefully, Bruce edged around the wreckage. There were half worked plans everywhere, things Bruce had never seen before. With just the floating numbers, he couldn't tell what went to what. It was disjointed, incomplete, manic.

Something slid onto the floor.

Bruce spun, staring at the machines. He walked over quickly, kneeling before them. It looked like cloth had fallen out of the machines, but when he picked it up, he felt a shock go up his arms, fingers humming. He ran his fingers across it, the material cold yet warm, inorganic yet so alive. It was mostly golden in color, though even that seemed to be shifting, lighter and darker even as he held it still in shaking hands.

The shower cut off.

Bruce stood hastily. He felt like he was intruding. Trespassing. He turned, hurrying out just before he heard the door open.

0

Fury stared at his own reflection in the glass, unblinking, hands clasped behind his back, still wrapped around the grip of his pistol. A pleased smile crept onto his face, only showing as a slight twitch before him.

The white lights in the room were almost blinding, washing out the color of the concrete, of the circular cell itself. Even so, he could still see that there were no chips in the glass, no cracks, even after he had emptied an entire clip into it.

It would have to do, because very soon, he hoped, that cell would be Loki's new home.

0

The energy crackling around the Bifrost died, making the fine hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. The messenger emerged, carrying what looked like a thin piece of white parchment.

Loki stared at that page, with its tiny black ink, wishing he could rip it from the messenger's hands, read its whole.

The messenger dropped to one knee before Odin, extending the white square up. "Allfather, the one known as Director Fury has burdened me with this message."

Odin's good eye flicked down to the parchment, scanning over the page's contents. His gaze slid to Loki for a moment. Loki's breath caught, but he quickly covered, keeping his mask cool, indifferent.

"What is it, Father?" Thor stepped forward, turning his head so he might see what the ink said. Odin quickly made the paper vanish, Thor seeming to forget about it all together. Loki had to fight not to say anything; he could still feel the presence of the parchment, tucked in Odin's belt, but it was invisible.

Loki knew that trick all too well.

"Nothing which can be discussed here. Come. There is much I must consider in the coming days."

Loki could tell a lie, even from so skilled a liar as Odin. He knew the Allfather had already made his decision. He could hear it in the thin cord of tension in his voice, the pulse of the vein upon his brow. Loki knew the signs.

With so many ears and eyes upon them, so many guards hovering, there was nothing he could say.

This would not be the first time Odin had broken a promise to his _dear_ younger son. Loki knew it would not be the last.


	31. Part IV Chapter I: Changing Tide

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, dark themes, psychological trauma, mind games. You know. The fun stuff.

**Author's Note: **Welcome to Hell. I'm not sorry.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART IV: A DISTORTED REFLECTION**

**CHAPTER I: CHANGING TIDE**

Sparks flared blue, showering the workbench. With a steady hand, he guided the saw down, gritting his teeth behind the welding mask. His arm tensed, resistance rising. He lifted his other hand, pushing down hard with all his weight.

The tension gave with a snap.

He jumped back, saw blade spinning violently in the air. With a kick, he cut the power.

Tony flipped his hood up, blinking against the white hot lab lights. Everything came into focus slowly, crystal sharp, painfully clear.

The new chest plate gleamed up at him from the table.

It was perfect.

0

That was all of them. Natasha uncrossed her arms, pushing off from the back of the couch. Clint reached out, but she shrugged it off. Now as not the time for sentimentality. It was the time for action, and if no one else would do it, she had to.

"I'm sorry for the short notice, but I couldn't keep quiet anymore." Natasha kept her hands at her sides, neutral, though it was hard to look anything close to neutral in her black suit, fully armed, deadly. She had to come prepared.

"Why are we here?" Rogers caught her in his stare. He had been wearing that solemn look since the press conference. There were no more of his awkward smiles and stilted jokes. It was like he was preparing for war.

For all intents and purposes, they were at war.

"I wanted to make sure everyone was ready."

Dr. Banner lowered his glasses, worry passing across his face. She couldn't help but glance at his eyes. They were still brown. She quickly looked away, in time to catch Clint's frown.

If she ever needed back up, it was right now, and the two who knew hadn't said a thing. This burden was falling firmly on her shoulders. So be it. She remembered this sort of thing. In the coming storm, there'd be more than enough opportunities to repay them.

"Director Fury has authorized the transfer of a very volatile war criminal." Natasha paused, making sure she had everyone's undivided attention. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is bringing him here."

Banner let out a brittle laugh, shaking his head. "What kind of war criminal are we talking about?"

Stark's expression remained the same, cool and collected, frowning just slightly. She didn't remember him having that good of a poker face. He just kept rubbing his work stained hands together, not even glancing up.

She didn't like that. Not one bit. She wondered what he'd seen. He was probably chin deep in S.H.I.E.L.D. files, if his history was anything to go by. It was a wonder he had time to work at all… That would explain the dark circles under Banner's eyes.

"Why don't you tell them, Mr. Stark?"

Everyone turned to look at him, except Clint. Bruce's eyes widened just as Steve's frown deepened. She could feel the tension rising in the room, the unspoken questions, the distrust. She didn't smile, though.

"I thought I made it clear I didn't want any part of this."

Steve sat back suddenly, realization on his face. Banner still didn't know. He still hadn't figured it out. Natasha tilted her head, regarding him. Did he really have no idea?

That was interesting. She would have to mention it in her next report.

"None of us have a choice."

"We always have a choice."

That wasn't true. She frowned just slightly, not taking her eyes off Stark. Not all of them had a choice. Stark only had one because he made people see it that way. He forced it, time and again, as if repeating it enough times would make it true.

It wasn't the time to argue, though. In all likelihood, they'd have to work as a team again, and soon. There was no point in starting even more strife than there already was.

"Am I really the only person who doesn't know what's going on?" Banner lifted his hands, looking around with a frown. "I can handle it. I've got a pretty good hold on the other guy now, promise."

Natasha had to check his eyes again just in case. Brown. She'd never forget watching him transform on the Helicarrier. It was best if none of them forgot.

"They are bringing Loki here."

Banner let out a little whistle and another of his laughs, teetering on a dangerous edge. There was a quiet beep, Natasha glancing to his bracelet. She'd never asked what it did, but assumed. That wasn't a good sound.

Rogers stood from his stool, straightening. He loomed over her, Natasha craning her head with a raised brow.

"Is Earth putting Loki on trial?"

Natasha nodded. "The Director is speaking to all of the proper channels to organize it."

Stark rolled his eyes. She decided to ignore it this time.

Rogers let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck slowly. "Just like old times, huh?"

This time Stark snorted, and she shot him a glare. He returned it, silently begging her to call him on it. She wouldn't rise to his bait. Stark wanted to push buttons right now? Good for him. Someone had to be the grown adult in the room.

"Why are you telling us this, now?" Banner fiddled with his bracelet, staring at the middle ground. He was still civil, though.

"So everyone can be prepared." Natasha bit the inside of her lip, then quickly stopped. She had no time for nervous ticks, especially not now. "We've all dealt with Loki before. He has a way of getting in people's heads. If we are ready, we can stop that from happening."

Everyone looked at Clint. She could feel the heat of his glare, quickly looking down. That was not what she had meant. That had been the Tesseract.

There was no where this meeting could go but down. It was time to stop it.

"I'm going to train. If anyone wants to join me, feel free." She paused, waiting. No one made a move. Fine. Frowning, she turned, heading for the elevator alone. If nothing else, at least she would be ready.


	32. Part IV Chapter II: Protection

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, dark themes, psychological trauma, mind games. You know. The fun stuff.

**Author's Note: **Just putting a friendly reminder here that my muse thrives on reviews. I love this story, and at times, it practically writes itself, but right now… I need to know what people think. Really. I've written so much in the past week that my muse has run out of fuel of its own and now needs a refill.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART IV: A DISTORTED REFLECTION**

**CHAPTER II: PROTECTION**

"But I am a full citizen of Asgard, and as such, I have the protection allotted to any other citizen!" Loki's teeth were bared like a wild animal backed into a corner by a much larger predator, back arched in aggression, green eyes shining bright with the magic which coursed just beneath the surface. "I have done my service! The Bifrost is complete!"

Odin watched, the raised dais of his throne giving him distance, a sort of remove that felt like a shield now more than ever before. He could view it from afar. He idly traced the runes on the shaft of his scepter, that distraction keeping his composure strong, unfaltering.

"If this was Thor they sought after, you would not hesitate to put a halt to this!"

"Enough!" Odin sat forward, training his eye upon Loki. Loki straightened, fear shining through the cracks in his delicately crafted mask. He pulled his shoulders back, meeting his gaze with defiance. He was a master manipulator. It was moments like these Odin could not forget it.

It was moments like these Odin could not forget that he had raised Loki.

"Citizen or no, disregarding this would put our treaty with Midgard in jeopardy."

"What use are the mortals to us?" Loki spit his words out, a low, feral growl. Cornered animal, indeed.

Odin leaned back, putting more distance between them, just a breath, but enough to make a difference. It seemed through his servitude, Loki had learned nothing of humility. Perhaps this was for the best.

"Either you submit yourself willingly, or you will be taken back to Midgard by force." Odin stared down at him, his own carefully crafted mask keeping his face still. "I give you until tonight."

Loki looked down, a breathy laugh escaping him. "So you would give me chance to say goodbye? To whom, do you think I would? Who do you think honestly cares?"

"Your mother."

Loki flinched, taking in a deep breath. Frigga was not present for this council, as she said it would be too much to bear. Odin wished he had forced Frigga to attend, because then her son might be less volatile, or would at least keep face better.

Finally, Loki spun, striding off between the columns. Odin watched him go, then turned his gaze back to Thor.

"You are troubled, my son."

Thor raised his gaze slowly, eyes burning with the intensity of a million suns, glistening with countless unshed tears. Odin started to stand, but Thor turned his back, leaving the hall without a word.

This was the right decision. Odin knew this was their only path. Midgard had proven itself, and now… Asgard had to remove the tarnish from its past.

0

"Tomorrow, we are receiving… a very special visitor." Fury paused, though no one moved, no one even batted an eyelash. He frowned. "Loki is being brought here."

Steve did not fake surprise. None of them did. They remained completely silent, Fury at the head of the meeting room looking even more and more like his name implied.

"What? I'm not getting anything? Really?"

Stark shrugged, messing with his phone again. Steve sighed, turning even more away from him. None of them wanted to be there, at that meeting, but he could at least show some respect.

"I am assigning each of you—with the exception of Dr. Banner—to guard duty."

"Excuse me?" Stark sounded offended. It took all of Steve's will not to roll his eyes. "I'm just as unprotected as Bruce without my armor—"

"Then I suggest you suit up." Fury kept frowning at them. "There will be two S.H.I.E.L.D. guards on his cell at all times, along with one Avenger. Twenty-four hours, seven days a week. Am I clear?"

"When will he be here?" Steve leaned forward, tapping his fingers on the table. It would probably be safest if everyone only did a six hour shift at longest before the replacement came in. Each of them had a prime time of operation, so that should factor into their rotation. He was a morning person, so he would gladly volunteer for the morning shift, even if that did shake up his training schedule.

It wasn't like he had anything better to do.

Fury turned away from the table, hands clasping behind his back. "We are not entirely sure yet."

"I can be there, when he arrives. As an escort." Steve offered immediately, seeing the disinterested look Stark had and the fact that Clint didn't look all that happy. Steve couldn't blame him, considering their past history. He'd been too scared to ask what it was like, despite his own morbid curiosity.

Fury gave a slow nod, barely glancing over his shoulder. "Meeting adjourned. Captain, I suggest you get to sleep. I'm not sure when, exactly, we'll be getting the call, and I'll need you fresh and in uniform."

Steve pushed himself up, saluting. He'd be ready.

0

"Our schedules are going to be…" Bruce chewed at his lip, staring at the soft glow of the arc reactor. He could feel Tony shrug under his cheek, making his head bob. He scooted closer, wrapping his arm around him tight.

Tony brought his arm up around Bruce's back slowly, as though he was thinking. Bruce felt like he could tell the difference now. There was normal Tony, who was always actually thinking, at least three layers of it, one mechanical, one programming, one surface noise. It was like the suit in the way. The other was Tony worried about something.

Bruce poked him in the ribs, ready to laugh, smile about to break loose. There was no response. He smoothed his hand out again, like nothing had happened. He was still quick to cover up actions, make them seem natural. Blend in.

"You don't like this."

"You don't either."

He kissed the crook of Tony's neck, seeking something, anything. His skin was warm, lips greeted with the usual metal and a faint salt tang. There was something else, too. He couldn't quite identify it.

"I don't think Fury realizes what he's opening up here." Tony turned his head, planting a half-distracted kiss on Bruce's forehead. He traced soft circles up Bruce's back. Bruce pushed a little closer, pulling his leg up over Tony's.

"Try not to think about it." Bruce tried smiling, but he couldn't quite find it. It was almost laughable. He was telling someone else not to worry. He was always worried. "Right now, there is nothing we can do."

Tony let out what could only be described as a resigned sigh and rolled to face him.

0

This time, there was no doubt in his mind when he heard the thundering feet of guards advancing through the halls. He could make himself vanish from their sight, but they would still find him. He could slide from the mirror in the corner of his room into another, but where to?

Loki stood, striding to the center of the room when the doors opened. He lifted his hands before him, flinching as he felt the cool metal bands coil around his wrists, locking them tight. The jolt ran through him like a jolt of lightening, fingers numb as the magic was chased from them.

His chance had passed. Now he was at the mercy of those he had previously shown none to.


	33. Part IV Chapter III: Red Ledger

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, dark themes, psychological trauma, mind games. You know. The fun stuff.

**Author's Note: **I kind of debated for a long time where this chapter was going to start. And after a while, I just kept moving it further up in time, until it was practically where I thought I was going to end the last chapter. Heh. Oh well.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART IV: A DISTORTED REFLECTION**

**CHAPTER III: RED LEDGER**

The Bifrost landed with a crash, dust exploding outward in a shockwave. Steve closed his eyes against it, but did not move, giving no ground. When he opened his eyes, the dust was receding already, forms visible in it.

He saw the glint of metal armor and long yellow cloaks first. Steve straightened his shoulders, lifting his chin high. He flexed his hand, readjusting his grip on his shield. He only hoped he would not need to use it.

The group approached, the New Mexico night becoming still around them. In the middle of the guards, standing tall and proud, was none other than Loki.

The man's face had healed, skin smooth and pale as though the Hulk had never happened to him. His eyes were a muted green, distant though his stance was defiant, even with his hands shackled before him.

Steve lifted his hand as a greeting, nodding to the guards. "We can take him from here."

S.H.I.E.L.D. agents moved in, one taking the place of every guard. Without a word, the Asgardians moved back in the imprint left by the Bifrost, vanishing as the agents escorted Loki into the quinjet.

Steve pressed the button on his communicator, waiting for it to crackle before speaking. "Target secured."

A confirmation was given on the other side. Everything was going as planned. That was certainly a pleasant surprise.

0

Natasha swiped her card, walking through the door quickly. She was in her suit again, weapons loaded and ready if need be. Even with him in a cell, she was on edge. They had all seen what happened the last time.

Two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in full riot gear stood on either side of the hallway entrance, guns slung over their shoulders. Natasha barely glanced at them as she walked past, heading straight for Rogers.

He was sitting on a chair, mask pushed back, gloves removed. His shield was propped on the wall next to him. He looked bored out his mind. That was a plus. She'd have hated for guard duty to actually be interesting.

Loki stood in his cell, hands still bound together, back to them, like no one mattered. She had to look long and hard to even see him breathing.

"Has he said anything?" Natasha dropped her bag on the table, looking down at Rogers.

"Not a thing." Rogers glanced up at Loki, then stood, stretching with a wince.

"Good. I'm not in a very conversational mood right now." She slid into his seat, crossing her legs with a frown.

She was relieved that he had been docile, but at the same time, it worried her. Loki had been anything but docile on the helicarrier. Either he was plotting something, or… he was plotting something. That had to be it.

Rogers said a polite goodbye before leaving, the gentleman as always. Somehow she managed not to roll her eyes. Some people might find it charming. At first, she did. She thought they were past that.

Six hours, and she'd be passing the torch to Stark. She sighed, glancing at her watch. It was going to be a long night.

0

The guards changed again. Loki blinked once, twice, letting his gaze focus on the glass before him. In it, he could faintly see the reflections of them. Fresh mortals stood at the hallway they had taken him through, and a new 'Avenger' had taken the place of the soldier.

It was the woman, again.

Loki did not say anything, did not even look at her. Despite what she stated, he was certain she would gladly trade angry words with him, should he but prod. It would not take much, either. There was still a quiet sort of rage he could feel radiating off of her.

He had threatened something dear to her, whether she would admit to it or not. It seemed she still bore that grudge.

Thankfully, she made good on her threat of silence, not saying a word. Loki returned the favor, moving to stretch his legs when he could see her attention was elsewhere. She was shrewd, cunning, and because of that, he was careful.

Time slipped by in gentle waves. Loki closed his eyes, floating back into the same meditative state he had been in for most of his time in this cell. In it, he could feel the tendrils of magic laced through his shackles, tracing them with his mind's eye.

With continued probing, he might be able to shed himself of his bonds.

The guard rotated again, Loki's mind snapping back into his body as sound once again filled the void of his prison.

"You are late, Mr. Stark." The woman's voice was smooth, but irritated. Loki opened his eyes, glancing over his shoulder for the first time.

None other than the metal man, Anthony Stark, stood just inside the room, an un-amused pout on his lips. Loki turned, gaze falling fully on his right hand. It was sheathed in a metal gauntlet, stripped bare of its red and gold plating, wires of blue light dipping beneath his short sleeved shirt.

Stark raised his hands in what might have been defensive. Loki could not quite tell, especially when the man's lips quirked up in a lopsided smirk. "Hey, you weren't expecting me to show up at all. Better late than never."

The woman rolled her eyes. She unfolded her legs, standing. It reminded him of an uncoiling snake. She was likely just as deadly, but at the moment, she was not his main focus. Loki found himself frowning at Stark, trying to read into him.

The others were plain to him, their emotions hidden beneath a thin veil, thoughts just a layer deeper, and just as badly concealed.

In a matter of moments, the woman was gone. Rather than taking her chair, Stark walked the perimeter of the room, checking the other door, even waving at one of the cameras. Loki turned, keeping the man in his sights.

Once his sweep of the room was done, Stark came straight to the door to the first half of his cell, an eyebrow quirked in an unspoken question. Loki did not answer, staring straight back.

This man wore many masks.

"So, how do you like Earth so far?" Stark gestured at the room around him, looking just about as uninterested in it as Loki was.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, swallowing. None of the others had bothered conversing with him. Perhaps it was a ploy. They were testing him, seeing how much it would take to make him speak.

Loki would not give in.

Stark merely shrugged. "If it was up to me, you wouldn't be here at all." He rolled his eyes, very pointedly, then crossed his arms. He had to recross them a few times before he seemed to settle in.

That was bait. Loki pursed his lips, lacing his fingers together. It strained against his shackles, but it was something to focus upon, so he put his full attention there.

"How was working on the Bifrost, anyway?" He smiled, that sarcastic smile he remembered so well from their last meeting. "Two months, and you've got Asgard back in the space travel business again. Bravo. I bet you wished you'd taken your time with that one."

Loki's frown deepened, brows pulling in. Perhaps he should have kept his back turned, though he was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, Stark loved the sound of his own voice. And he had thought the guard shift of the 'good Captain' had felt unbearably long.

"You know what my theory is?" Stark took a step back, letting his arms fall. He fished a flask from his pocket and took a sip as he walked toward the chair. "Going after you is going to open up a lot of doors."

Though he honestly wanted to ignore the man, he was making it impossible. Curiosity got the best of him, Loki stepping to the left so he could continue watching Stark clearly.

"Not good doors, either." Stark plopped down in the chair, reclining comfortably. "It's going to show the public that they can call people out on past crimes if they bitch enough in the streets."

"What have you to fear?"

Stark looked up sharply, blinking a few times before he regained his composure. He flexed his armored hand, staring at it for a moment, before he spoke again, words bitter and dark in a way Loki did not recognize from the metal man at all.

"A lot more than you think." Stark flexed his hand, a low whine coming from his gauntlet. Loki trained his gaze on the glowing circle imbedded in the armor's palm, where the sound was surely coming from. "I may be called a hero now, but I wasn't always."

Loki wetted his lips, taking a step closer to the glass. His fingers brushed against it, though he was hardly paying attention to that. "And what, pray tell, did they call you?"

Stark frowned deeply. There were no more playful jabs, that mask removed. The mockery was gone as well. Loki could see concern in the growing wrinkles of his face, in the strands of grey in his dark hair. Those eyes were nothing short of haunted.

It seemed, though, Loki had finally asked the question to shut the man up, right when he actually wanted him to speak.

Loki backed away from the glass, taking up his rigid watch once more. After a while, his eyes fluttered shut. He was wary, but he did not let himself slip into sleep, not here, and certainly not while standing. This kind of rest, almost conscious, was as much as he would dare.

It was not until he heard the nameless guards being switched that he opened his eyes again, only to find Stark watching him intently. The man stood, coming close to the glass, so close a fine mist played across the barrier with his words.

"They called me the Merchant of Death."

Stark stepped back just as another of the Avengers, the archer, arrived to take his place. Loki watched the metal Avenger's departure, storing his questions away for later.

If this rotation continued, he knew he would have more than enough time to ask.


	34. Part IV Chapter IV: Fairness

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, dark themes, psychological trauma, mind games. You know. The fun stuff.

**Author's Note: **I thought I'd written myself in a hole with the last chapter. Was stressing out a bit. Then I looked at my outline. Apparently I'd already thought ahead and mapped out that hole and the way out of it. Fuck yeah.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART IV: A DISTORTED REFLECTION**

**CHAPTER IV: FAIRNESS**

Bruce turned, sliding his glasses down the bridge of his nose as the door opened. A smile crept on his lips, uncontrollable. Tony walked in the lab, cup of coffee practically glued to his mouth. Bruce shoved the computer monitor back over the desk, meeting him halfway.

"How did it go?" Bruce gently pushed the coffee mug down, replacing it with his own lips. His mile was contagious, quickly transferred. "Guessing it was uneventful."

"Yeah." Tony shrugged, taking another long draw from his mug. "I think he's sulking."

Bruce laughed, taking the coffee mug away. He set it on the table next to them, giving Tony a firm poke. "Don't you think you've had enough caffeine?"

Tony pouted, casting a forlorn look at the mug. Bruce laughed harder, turning Tony's face back towards him.

"Come on, you were in the workshop all afternoon, and then on guard duty all night. You should get some sleep."

"I'm fine." Tony reached for the cup, Bruce catching his hand. "Please?"

Bruce looked away sharply. That look would ruin his resolve. It always did. "If I come with you, will it help?"

"I've already consumed enough coffee to keep the entire US Army awake for a month." Tony leaned over, right into his field of vision with that look. Bruce felt his resolve crumbling. "You'd have to tire me out first."

Bruce took off his glasses, folding them carefully before setting them next to the cup. He smiled again, chewing at his lower lip before finally responding. "Challenge accepted."

0

Fatigue pressed him down into the temperfoam mattress, but sleep still wouldn't come. He stared at the ceiling, one hand gently combing through Bruce's unruly curls, the other at his side, flat down on the sheets. It wasn't the coffee, either.

"He's not going to get a fair trial."

Bruce glanced up, blinking to clear the sleep from his eyes. His hand lingered on top of the arc reactor, mostly blotting out its light. Tony knew that wasn't why he did it. It was the comfort. Tony had slept like that, with his hand on the arc reactor, for a year after he had gotten it, just to remind himself that he was okay.

Right now, it didn't feel like everything was going to be okay.

"If they are smart, they will keep emotionality out of it."

"Like they can." Tony stretched his back, dislodging Bruce for a moment before settling back down. "You saw the protests. These people don't care about the facts, Bruce. They smell blood in the water, and when they get to the source, it'll be a frenzy."

"We don't know that."

Tony closed his eyes, wilting. "I didn't take you for an optimist."

"Someone had to be your counterpoint."

"Thanks."

"Go to sleep." Bruce pressed his cheek against Tony's shoulder, pointedly. "Or I'll put my bracelet on you and _make_ you go to sleep."

Sighing, Tony complied, listening to Bruce's long, calm breaths next to him until he finally drifted off.


	35. Part IV Chapter V: Criminals and Heroes

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, dark themes, psychological trauma, mind games. You know. The fun stuff.

**Author's Note: **I love you guys. Really. Your reviews make my day and keep me writing. Thank you all.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART IV: A DISTORTED REFLECTION**

**CHAPTER V: CRIMINALS AND HEROES**

"How much longer are we going to keep the media in the dark?" Natasha watched the screen carefully, the protests reflected in her eyes. Director Fury stood beside her, hands tucked behind his back as usual. Natasha turned her head slightly, just enough to see his stoic expression. "It is getting dangerous out there."

"I want to make sure we have all our ducks in a row before we let anything leak. The last thing we need is an angry mob storming Stark Tower."

"Of course." Natasha turned back towards the wall mounted flat screen. "You still didn't answer my question, though."

"Good catch." Fury pivoted, returning to his desk. "I don't know, otherwise I'd give you an exact number. Trust me, I'm pulling strings as fast I can without them snapping."

"Have you watched the surveillance?" Natasha put her back towards the screen, keeping her gaze on the Director now. She could not read his expression. It was completely neutral, something she had mastered years ago. Not many people could use it against her.

"Some." Fury turned on his computer, reclining in his chair. "There wasn't much to see."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Director Fury laughed, a smile breaking across his features. "Do you have a problem with it?"

"I think he is planning something."

"He came willingly."

"He did last time, too." Natasha looked down at her feet for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "I think there should be someone monitoring the security feed whenever Stark is down there. They are both extremely unpredictable, and if something happens—"

"We do have people monitoring the security feed, and, if you haven't forgotten, two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in there as well. If something goes wrong, I'll be the first one to hear about it."

Natasha gritted her teeth, but didn't say anything. It was obvious Fury wouldn't listen. She just hoped he was right.

0

"You are awfully quiet tonight."

Tony glanced up over his gauntlet, then went back to work, tightening the last screw. He flexed his hand, rolling his wrist. Everything moved as it should. Tony pushed his hand up, the tension triggering the repulsor at his palm to whine as it charged. He lowered his hand, the sound stopping, the light receding.

Loki stood in his cell, going from statue still to pacing like a caged tiger at intervals. Every time Tony looked up, those piercing green eyes were on him.

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know."

The man—Deity? Demigod? The Avatar of Trouble?—scoffed, beginning to pace again. So much pent up energy was going to drive Tony up a wall. He focused instead on his gauntlet, making little tweaks to the exoskeleton and exposed circuitry. His whole schedule was thrown off by guard duty, so he had to make the most of it.

He might as well work on anything which didn't require the full workshop while down there.

"You never truly told me why it was you had anything to fear." Loki paused in his cell again, trying to stretch his shoulders, it looked like. It didn't work too well with the shackles on. "What past transgressions might come back to haunt you?"

Tony set his screwdriver down, leaning back in his chair. "What's in it for me?"

Loki frowned. It was a much better expression than that uncanny smile of his. It was safer. Well, at least _he_ felt safer when Loki was frowning, because that meant things weren't going his way. And that was good for his health. What probably wasn't good for it, though, was the fact that it looked like Loki was considering something.

"A trade."

Tony glanced at the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents—they might as well be mannequins, for all the contributions they were making—then back to Loki.

This was probably a horrible idea.

"You value knowledge, Stark, I can tell my own kind." Loki paused in front of the door, staring through two layers of reinforced glass at him. "It is only a matter of time before this trial begins, and then, my knowledge will be forever out of your reach."

He certainly knew how to drive a hard bargain. Damn.

"Deal. You start." Tony stood, walking closer to the cage. He didn't like how Loki turned to keep him in view. "When we were in Germany, you made your armor disappear. What was that?"

0

The explanation was intricate, faceted with nuanced subtleties, and in absolutely no way dumbed down. When Loki finally stopped talking, Tony had to remind himself to blink. His eyes were dry from staring to long, mostly at Loki's hands. Those lithe fingers had moved in what Tony mistakenly thought was a nervous twitch at first, then he realized it wasn't that at all.

Magic was made with the hands, woven with skilled finger movements, precise and practiced. Those fingers itched to create, making the motions out of a kind of yearning.

Tony finally dropped his gaze to his own hands, his left one idly playing with a screwdriver, right flexing and moving with the feel of the gauntlet around it.

When he looked up again, Loki was watching him, watching his hands. Tony put the screwdriver down, swallowing the lump in his throat. He glanced at the clock. It'd already been three hours. It had only been three hours.

That meant it was his turn.

Tony stood, stretching. He could feel Loki's gaze burning into him, the same way ice burned, could feel the way the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were watching him almost as intently as they were watching their charge. That was comforting.

For some reason, he really didn't feel comfortable with them hearing this.

Tony walked around the cage, putting it between himself and the guards. That would mute him. On second thought, that wouldn't be enough. "Jarvis, would you mind putting a dampener on the audio feed?"

With a chirp, the microphones on the cameras all clicked off, the little light on the side of them turning red. Good.

Now it was just a matter of figuring out where to start.

"How many people do you think you killed?" Tony tried crossing his arms, then stopped. He knew from Loki's file that he was a master manipulator, a master liar. Liars could read people. Tony didn't want to give him any new material. "Directly and indirectly, how many?"

"By people, I assume you refer only to humans." Loki's expression did not change; he didn't even bat an eyelash at the sudden questioning. "In that case, I was informed the number was over one hundred."

Tony made a little noise, eyes darkening. "That's cute." Loki's eyes narrowed, jaw tensing. "No, really, that's like child's play."

He flexed his hand again, stretching it in the gauntlet. "Before I had my metal suit, I was a weapons maker. I designed bombs for the highest bidder. And other things, too. Anything destructive, I made it. I wouldn't have had a problem with it, either, if only the 'good guys' were using my weapons. That was the problem. The 'bad guys' were some of my best customers."

Loki took a step closer to the glass, brows furrowed, like he wasn't quite sure what he was hearing. He'd have enough time to stew on it before Tony's next shift, so he didn't bother to slow down. That, and Tony was certain Loki could keep up. A rare feat, that. Might as well take advantage of it.

"If just one of my Jericho missiles failed to kill at least one hundred people, I would have been disappointed. And they came in three-packs." Tony let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "The best part? When I got a taste of my own medicine, built my suit, hunted down all my double-dealt weapons and killed my backstabbing mentor, the world was _excited_."

The silence was killing him. Loki didn't say a word, just staring at him with pursed lips.

He figured he'd have something to say about that. Something biting. Something acidic.

Tony gritted his teeth, continuing. "I got a medal. The public sees what they want to see. They want to see me as a hero. I flew a nuke into space and blew up the rest of your army before it could come out. How many Chitauri do you think that killed? But I'm the hero. And you're the criminal."

A smile flashed across Loki's features, chilling to the bone. "I used to think I could be the hero. Then I woke up."

The door opened across the room, Cap walking in.

"Jarvis, audio back on."

Tony didn't have time to see if the lights were green again. He grabbed his bag and left.

There were some things he didn't want to think about.


	36. Part IV Chapter VI: Honor

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, dark themes, psychological trauma, mind games. You know. The fun stuff.

**Author's Note: **

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART IV: A DISTORTED REFLECTION**

**CHAPTER VI: HONOR**

The main floor had become even quieter than usual. Quieter, and more tense. Bruce didn't even have to walk up to the floor to ceiling windows and look down into the street to feel the tension, either. The employees Bruce still ran into were all extremely high strung, because coming into work with the building on lockdown was difficult and dangerous, plus they could tell there was something worse going on.

None of them knew the Stark Tower was sitting on top of a war criminal. That was probably for the best, though. Bruce tried smiling and being encouraging, but he could tell people were nervous around him, even here, in the Tower.

Sighing, Bruce turned off the stove with one hand while he got down two plates with the other. If he didn't get food or make it, Tony was probably going to forget to eat again. He was doing that a lot lately. He was more than a little worried.

"Dr. Banner." Steve gave him a nod, opening the fridge. He pulled out a water bottle and moved away again, to a safer distance.

"Shouldn't you be asleep right now?"

"Got a meeting with the Director." Steve drank half the bottle before putting the cap back on.

"Anything interesting?" Bruce slid the curry onto the plates, half and half, then set the pan on the back burner.

Steve didn't say anything, looking down.

That wasn't good.

"I can handle it."

"Sorry, I should get going." Steve gave an awkward smile and finished off his water bottle, tossing it in a recycling bin he'd started a while back. He was the only one who actually used it. He vanished into the elevator without even really saying goodbye, which was off for him.

The food was getting cold, otherwise he might have pursued it. Sighing, Bruce grabbed forks and pressed the up button, waiting for the elevator to come back.

0

"How is babysitting duty treating you so far, Captain?"

Steve shifted from foot to foot, still standing at attention, hand aching to salute, though he knew he didn't have to, and that he shouldn't. He wasn't in the military anymore. This was S.H.I.E.L.D. and Fury wasn't a platoon leader, he was the Director. It was completely different, and yet the familiarity of it was what made him the most comfortable on most days.

Right now, it felt like a crutch to lean on, and he did not like that one bit.

"It is… a lot easier than I first thought it would be, Sir."

Fury gave a slow nod, staring at him with his good eye. Steve looked away, not sure if he should look at the eye, the patch, or the middle ground, which only made him more uncomfortable. It would be rude to acknowledge that out loud, though, so he kept his mouth shut on the matter.

"If I may…?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"I am more than a little worried at the attention the war criminal is showing to one of his supervisors."

Fury frowned at him, and immediately, Steve shifted uncomfortably, waiting for a reprimand which never came. Fury just scowled at him, patiently glaring, if that was even possible. Fury did a lot of things like that.

Steve cleared his throat, trying again. "Loki has been silent for the most part, except during the periods Stark is there."

"I've noticed."

"I am worried."

"Yeah, I noticed that, too." Fury crossed his arms, leaning back on the front of his desk. Steve searched his face for something, anything, but couldn't get any kind of read on him.

"I am afraid Loki might try something."

"I have all the assurances of Asgard that his magic is bound."

"Yeah, but his mouth isn't." Steve took a step forward, then quickly fell back into position, letting out a strained sigh. "According to his file, he has been using words to manipulate people since he could talk."

"So has Stark." Fury let his arms fall to his sides, though it did not make him seem any friendlier. "Look, I know you have good intentions, but I think Stark can handle himself. Plus, Loki doesn't have any windows to throw him out of. He'll be fine."

Steve cracked a small smile. "Yeah, but will Loki be fine?"

Fury laughed, a small, clipped thing. It felt loaded. It didn't put Steve at ease at all.

"The boys can handle themselves, and if everything goes well, the trial should be starting soon, which means they won't be left so alone."

"There are other guards there." Steve's smile fell as quickly as it came, worry flooding back full force. Alone? Had Stark sent the guards away? There were a million questions he could ask, and the longer he stared at Fury, the more and more he felt like he wouldn't be getting any answers. He blinked, clearing his throat again. "What did Stark do?"

There was another laugh, setting him even more on edge. "Better question: what hasn't Stark done?"

"You didn't answer my question. Sir."

Fury rolled his eye. "Other than talking to an intergalactic war criminal and none of the microphones or guards picking up what was said, nothing."

That only made Steve's frown deepen. "Did he tamper with the holding cell?"

"Not that I'm aware of, but Stark is the leading edge in just about every kind of tech that doesn't explode, so I wouldn't be surprised. Is there anything else you wanted to address with me, Captain?"

When Fury put it like that, Steve wondered why he reported anything to Fury at all. He took a deep breath, then shook his head, only catching his salute half-way through. He let his hand fall again, frowning.

"You're dismissed, soldier."

Steve turned. If Fury wouldn't listen, someone else had to. Someone else had to care enough to be worried.


	37. Part IV Chapter VII: Occupational Hazard

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, dark themes, psychological trauma, mind games. You know. The fun stuff.

**Author's Note: **Just fixed my outline for the rest of part 4 and the first half of part 5. Yay! Now we can get on with the story?

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART IV: A DISTORTED REFLECTION**

**CHAPTER VII: OCCUPATIONAL HAZARDS**

In the right situation, six hours could feel like the blink of an eye. In the wrong one, six hours could feel like an eternity. This was the wrong sort of situation. Every minute crawled past, making its presence known before slinking off.

No matter what he tried doing, how he tried distracting himself, the time still would not go faster.

It didn't help that he could feel Loki's gaze following him everywhere.

Clint closed his eyes, staring down at the concrete floor. It was still there, at the back of his head. The feeling of every cell screaming out, every thought being unwound, jumbled, like slack chains, and nothing he could do would put them back together again. It was like being in a cage, where he could see anything, but no matter how much he shouted, no matter how much he beat at that invisible barrier, he couldn't be heard. His body did what it did, and he had no say over it.

And there Loki was, in a cell, those toxic green eyes watching him. He who unmade Clint.

Banner was lucky he had gotten out of guard duty. Clint would have subjected himself to another month of personality tests and psychological evaluations if it'd gotten him out of this.

0

"And lastly, the government funding has been received for us to begin construction of a new arc reactor for the city grid." Pepper placed the stack of papers before him. "I highlighted everywhere you need to sign."

Tony groaned, staring down into his coffee cup. This was ridiculous. It was two in the afternoon and he looked like he had only been up twenty minutes. Pepper rolled her eyes, slamming her pen on top of the stack. She was not going to leave until every one of those papers was signed and she could get all of these contracts moving again, because being in the Avengers was really hampering Tony's ability to run Stark Industries and she could only take so much more of it.

"Tony, I need you to focus. Right now." Pepper picked up his coffee mug, taking a sniff of it. It didn't smell like he'd added any alcohol. That was surprising. She did not smell any coming off him, either. That meant there was absolutely no reason he should look so run ragged right now, unless he was keeping something from her.

She placed the coffee cup back down, crossing her arms. "I have three meetings today, and if I am late to any of them—"

Tony mumbled something then picked up the pen, working through each page methodically, pausing to scan the contents quickly. Sometimes she wondered if he was really just brushing off the contents like it looked like, or if he could really read that fast. It could be possible.

Within ten minutes, all of the pages were signed, and Tony was handing them back up. Pepper slid them into her suitcase, in the last file with the green tab, and clicked it shut. "Where's Dr. Banner?"

Tony looked up sharply at that, almost choking on his coffee. He coughed once, twice, then finally managed something. "Lab."

That was somewhat surprising, considering she had not seen the two apart for a while. At first it had been trying, but now she was used to it. As used to it as she could possibly get. In fact, it made her life a little easier, seeing as Tony actually slept and ate on a regular basis. It was a start.

Now if only he could get on a schedule like a regular human being, and they'd be in business.

"I will let you know how the meetings went tonight, and have a full report ready for you tomorrow." Pepper hoisted her briefcase, giving a curt smile before going.

0

The sun was starting to set outside, its rays setting the whole city awash with golden light. That was her signal that it was time to go, finally. The day felt like it'd stretched on forever, and it wasn't just the meetings. She actually liked meetings, usually, but everyone was being an absolute pain because of the protests.

The fact that companies were actually hesitant to associate themselves with Stark Industries because of a little bit of social unrest was absolutely infuriating. She hadn't said anything, though, hiding it all behind her courteous smile and a firm handshake.

They would come around eventually. She would make sure of it, even if that meant pulling Tony in to distract them. Companies usually caved when they got to meet him in person, all charismatic and talking too fast for even their top engineers to keep up.

Sighing, Pepper finished packing up her suitcase and slung her purse over her shoulder. She headed down in the elevator, stepping out in the lobby. "Good night, Cheryl." Pepper gave a short wave to the woman at the front desk, smiling again.

The woman smiled back, like it was infectious, and waved as well. "You too, Miss Potts."

Readjusting her purse on her shoulder, she headed through the lobby, shouldering the door open when she got to it. The car was waiting at the curb, Happy waiting patiently. Pepper couldn't help but smile a little bigger, seeing him there. She slid into the back seat, buckling in.

"I'm glad you came out from Malibu."

Happy glanced over his shoulder, giving a little shrug. "I'm here to serve." He laughed, then turned on his blinker, pulling out into traffic. It was slow going, but that was nice, relaxing. And they got to catch up a little, about how Happy was actually training in boxing a lot more since the whole HammerTech incident, and how the mansion was doing fine without anyone there. He didn't mind checking up on it now and then, though he did miss everyone being in Malibu.

She missed it too. She missed a lot of things, but she wasn't about to break the happy banter for anything. This was the best way to unwind from the day, excluding champagne and bubble baths surrounded by scented candles. Maybe that's what she would do tonight.

Happy slammed on the breaks.

Pepper threw her arms forward, seatbelt crashing against her before she could fly too far forward. She took a deep breath, looking around.

The cars in front of them were crunched together, right in the intersection. Pepper fumbled for her purse, riffling through it for her phone. It had to be in there somewhere.

That's when she heard the chanting.

She looked up slowly, eyes widening.

There were enough people to be classified as a mob. An angry mob. A lot of them were holding signs. Pepper put her hand to her heart, trying to calm it down for a moment. It felt like it was going to burst straight out of her chest.

Happy looked back over his seat, frowning. Pepper couldn't help but look, too. There were cars behind them. They were locked in.

"Stay calm, I'll handle this. Just keep inside, okay."

Before she could protest, Happy was out of the car, walking for the crowd. Pepper finally found her phone, speed dialing Tony. No answer. She glanced up.

One of them punched Happy.

Pepper lowered the phone, staring as the crowd launched on him.

A few of them were staring right at her.

Pepper reached down, slapping the seatbelt until it finally snapped off. She stumbled out of the car, purse clasped to her side, suitcase in one hand.

They were moving closer. Pepper took a step back. Someone was there.

"Quickly Miss Potts."

Pepper spun.

Phil Coulson stood there, small, patient smile bowing up his lips just slightly. Pepper looked from his face to his shoulder, then back up again, unable to speak.

He grabbed her elbow, quickly leading her through a dinner and out the back exit. It wasn't until they were halfway through the alley that she finally managed to say anything.

"What about Happy?"

Phil didn't break stride, still leading her. "S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are converging on the crash site as we speak. Do not worry about him. We will handle this."

"Tony told me you were dead!"

Phil gave that patient smile again. It was the same type Pepper used when dealing with clients who just weren't listening. She wouldn't back down though, and Phil seemed to realize that.

"I am whatever S.H.I.E.L.D. needs me to be, Miss Potts. This way, please." Phil turned her down another street, pausing at a light as police cars sped by, sirens wailing. As soon as they were gone, he guided her across the street, into another car. "I am sorry, but I cannot allow you to return home at this time. The driver will take you to a safe location until we can decide upon a course of action."

There was that smile again, and Pepper could only nod as she was gently pushed into the back of the car and whisked away.


	38. Part IV Chapter VIII: Accountability

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, dark themes, psychological trauma, mind games. You know. The fun stuff.

**Author's Note: **Life has been really crazy. And I was really burnt out. And I was getting cabin fever because I didn't have my car and couldn't get anywhere on my own, so I needed a weekend. I took that. My brain feels a lot better now.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART IV: A DISTORTED REFLECTION**

**CHAPTER VIII: ACCOUNTABILITY**

"I'm en route right now." Natasha pressed on her communicator, disconnecting. She pushed her hand through the other arm of her suit, slipping it up over her shoulder as he walked. With a jerk, she zipped it up, slapping the elevator button.

Before the elevator hit the bottom floor, she was already patched through to Fury's office, interrupting his falsely cordial greeting. "Fury, do you have any idea what you are doing?"

"_I am well aware of the situation and we have it under control._"

"Control? You call _that_ control?" Natasha gritted her teeth, hand shaking. "Do you have any idea how close they got? How much damage was _almost_ done?"

"_I believe you stated the key term there, Agent Romanoff. Almost. As in it didn't happen._"

Natasha let out a growl, cutting it short as the elevator doors dinged open. She brushed past security, slamming her card through the scanner and shoving the door open.

Stark was bent over in his chair, one foot in a stripped down mechanical boot, multiple tools in hand. He looked up sharply, whatever he was about to say dying on his lips. He glanced at the clock then back at her, frown deepening.

"We have a situation."

He sat up sharply, blinking a few times. She didn't move, standing in the doorway. If she moved, it would likely be to strike something, so she had to keep perfectly still. If he said anything sarcastic right now, it would probably be him.

Thankfully, Stark seemed to be speechless.

"The protest got out of hand."

Stark shrugged, bending back over his leg. "What else is new?"

"Pepper was in it."

He froze. She could see the vein pulse on his neck. She didn't tense, though. Stark didn't turn into a massive killing machine when he was under stress, and good thing, because he always seemed to be under stress. Like he thrived on it.

Not this kind.

"Is she…"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives intercepted her and have taken her to a safe location. Happy was taken to a secure hospital." Natasha glanced between Stark and Loki. The latter was facing mostly away, but his head was turned, just enough that Natasha knew he was listening. Right now, she didn't care. "I was going to her safe location, though if you want, I can relieve you of duty so you can go."

Stark lowered his head, letting out a shaky breath. He fiddled with his tools, then shook his head. "Just keep me updated."

"I figured I'd give you the option."

He cringed at her word choice. Natasha knew it was a poor one, but went with it anyway. As far as she was concerned, Stark was still on her negative list. Still, she would keep him informed. He deserved that much, at least.

0

For a second, however fleeting, he was certain he saw actual emotion on Stark's features, all of those masks pulled away in a startling moment of clarity. There was worry, first and foremost, followed in quick succession by what could only be classified as fear. That look was much like the feeling of falling, of feeling the drop and knowing there were only moments before hitting the bottom, hard.

Before the bottom could be found, his expression was recovered, masks pulled securely into place. Even with that shield up, Loki could see chips in the armor which once seemed so utterly impervious.

Loki fought against a smirk, keeping his lips pursed in a thin, disinterested line. He turned his gaze away, focusing on the glass. In the reflection, he could see the Black Widow leave the room, see Stark set back to whatever project it was he worked so diligently on night after night.

The man's hands never stopped moving, and Loki could tell, his mind did not either. He was in a constant state of creation. Loki stretched his fingers, gritting his teeth as he felt the strain of the cold shackles encircling his wrists.

In the silent hours, he had created a mental map of the shackles, of every facet of them, mapped even how they stretched invisible fingers into his bones and barred the pulse of magic through his veins. There was just enough let through, as small a fraction as it was, to keep the illusion of Aesir pale skin and emerald eyes, just enough to make him look more a person than the monster that lay beneath it all.

It was a magic he did not control, a magic not of his own creating. Perhaps that was why it was allowed to run free while the rest had been effectively dammed.

And if one thing, however small, was allowed past, then others could be, too.

"Brooding again?"

Loki blinked, bringing his mind back to the present. He turned slowly, smirk flashing across his features. "The same could be said about you."

"I'm working." Stark pointed one of his tools at Loki, scowling. Loki had expected a smirk. Perhaps his masks were not so immaculate to cover this latest discovery. "I have an excuse. You don't."

"Oh? My neck being placed firmly upon the executioner's block is not a proper excuse?" Loki let out a small breath of a laugh, shaking his head. As the Midgardians would put it, Stark was truly 'a piece of work'.

Stark shrugged. He returned to his wires and machinery, changing this connection or that. The broken down structure reminded him of his diagrams of the Bifrost, in a way. He assumed Stark had diagrams as well, somewhere, no doubt in that glowing rectangle of glass he carried with him.

As interesting as it was just to watch him tinker in his natural environment, there were much more intriguing matters to prod at.

"This woman, is her name truly Pepper?"

Stark closed his eyes, and Loki could see the tension snap tight in his jaw. Just as quick as that, it was gone, though. He turned his tool sharply, gritting against the force. In a matter of moments he was moving his foot around, the metal frame gliding easily around his foot, actually showing some mobility Loki did not remember his crimson and gold metal suit having.

"It's Virginia."

Loki nodded, though he had no idea about Midgardian naming customs, nor could he tell where such a pet name as Pepper would come from. It was no doubt something sentimental, otherwise such a simple, _innocent_ question would not have caused such a reaction.

Or perhaps the sentiment was for her.

He touched the glass lightly, fingertips ghosting over the surface. They left no mark. No alarms sounded, either. He pressed his palms to the glass, leaning against them. Nothing. He was not sure if he should feel relief or insult.

"Is she your lover?"

"No."

There was that tension again, so brief it might be missed, if he had not been looking specifically for it. Loki leaned against the glass again, knee pressing on it. The structure did not give at all, despite all his strength being put into it at the moment. The cage was much stronger than it looked at first glance. If he had his magic, he would have already known that, though.

Thankfully, Stark was too distracted to see he was testing the limits, and Loki entirely planned on keeping it that way.

"But she was, at one point. I can tell."

Stark closed his eyes, hanging his head. He did not even try concealing his reaction this time, much to Loki's pleasure.

One chip to the armor at a time. Soon enough, it would fall.

"I assume you have a new lover now?"

"That's none of your business."

Loki shrugged, taking a step back from the glass. Stark leveled a heated glare at him, drawing out a short laugh from Loki. "Ah, but what of our earlier discussions? Were they truly any more my business than this?"

He had a valid point, and he could tell Stark realized it, despite whatever frustration it might have caused him. Loki smiled again, and it was somewhere close to warm, if it hadn't been for the opposite message no doubt visible in his eyes. Just another elaborate mask.

"It is interesting that I have only had four guards of your group. What of the mindless beast? Has he finally strayed so far from the light he is no longer worthy of the title Avenger?"

Stark's hand trembled on his tool, coiling tight enough around the hilt of it that his knuckles flared white. If there was not glass in the way, he was certain he would be able to hear the man grinding his teeth.

He had struck something with this, though what it was, he could not be certain.

"Is it because he is a monster, that he is not trusted?"

"That's not it." Stark grated the words out, tapping the tool against his hand. There were red marks left behind. It no doubt stung, though Stark hardly noticed. "He's busy."

"And you are not? It seems to me as though there are millions of things you would rather be doing." Loki made a slow circle of his cell, gaze never leaving Stark once. He could not miss a moment. "Even the archer has made an appearance. What is so special about the beast to make him exempt?"

Stark swallowed roughly, Loki tracing the bob of his throat's apple with his eyes. If there was not a cell around Loki, if they were not underground—perhaps in Stark's private quarters at the top of the tower again—he was certain the man would be tempted to try tossing him from a window this time, rather than the other way around.

It was a fun game, but one which he would tire of quickly if Stark did not start providing at least some answers.

"I said it was none of your business."

Loki paused mid-step, opening his mouth to retort before he caught himself. Stark had not, to his recollection, said anything about the beast's absence being none of his business. No, he had said his love life was not his business.

"I see." Loki straightened his shoulders, scrutinizing Stark in a completely new sort of light, now. He was glad now for his patience, even if he had been close to its end. "How does he feel about your time spent here? I believe this is Midgard's night, and you are not there to share your bed with him."

Stark's eyes grew wide, and again, it was like the sensation of falling. He could see it. See the plummet. See the bottom looming there, so close, about to hit. Stark closed his expressive brown eyes, taking a shaky breath.

He was not sure what to make of the sudden change. It was an admission, but of what sort? It could be surprise at his secret being discovered, or it could be a sort of fear, that same fear shown when the Widow announced Pepper had been in danger. Or maybe he was just exasperated, though Loki doubted it. Tony did not seem the sort to become exasperated so easily.

"Perhaps I was wrong." Loki lifted his hands, though the gesture did little, as they were bound together at the wrist. It was irritating, to say the least. "A jest, nothing more."

Stark let out a slow breath, slow enough that it was meant to go unnoticed. Loki caught it. There was a sign of relief, clear, very clear.

It was best, he decided, if Stark suspected he was completely in the dark on this. There would be more trust, and less pressure, in a way. At least, that was his aim. The less pressure building up between them, the better.

Those whom were comfortable always spilled the most information, whether they intended it or not.

0

"Are you absolutely sure about this?"

Fury stared up at the bare ceiling, frowning. Though his hands were clasped behind his back, there was an itch in his fingers, an itch that could only be scratched by holding his gun. Right now, he had some more important fish to fry, though.

"Yeah, I'm sure, Coulson."

Coulson gave a small nod with that patient smile he always conjured up. Fury really didn't like being on the receiving end of that. It was a damn effective weapon.

"In that case, I will inform all the proper venues and rally security for your announcement."

"It's not like the President is giving a speech."

Coulson pressed on with that smile, not budging. "Considering the recent attacks against members of the Avengers initiative as well as against Stark Industries employees, I believe I am perfectly warranted in saying it is necessary."

Fury had to give him that. He nodded. That was the only signal Coulson needed at this point. They'd worked together long enough to know the signs. Coulson turned on his heel and headed out of the room, heading towards the surface again.

He went the opposite direction, to the room one Virginia Pepper Potts was currently housed it.

It wasn't meant to be comfortable, but they did what they had to in the short amount of time they had. In fact, originally, it was a low threat hostile holding cell. Pepper wasn't a threat, as far as he could tell, but they needed a safe location.

Fury knocked on the door, once out of being cordial, before walking in. He leaned on the wall, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Pepper glanced up from her seat on the cot, standing quickly. She opened her mouth, then looked down, collecting herself before speaking.

"I want a status update, _this instant_, on how Happy is doing. I also demand to be allowed out of this room, because I'm not the enemy here. And I want to know if everyone in the Tower is fine."

"Miss Potts, I did not come here—"

"Don't you dare avoid my questions. If it wasn't for me, Tony never would have considered helping you out. No Iron Man on your team. So I think you owe me this much, at least."

"You definitely drive a hard bargain." Fury leveled his eye at her, considering. He could see how Pepper had survived as Stark's handler for so long. She'd earned her reputation, and then some. "But I agree."

Pepper continued frowning at him, mirroring his position with arms crossed.

"Your driver is being transferred as we speak. He only needed a few stitches, so he'll be just fine. As for the Tower, it is still on lock down. All the proper personnel were informed of the situation. Agent Romanoff is currently on her way and will be handling your stay here."

"See, that wasn't so hard." Pepper had the same smile at Coulson, and he had a feeling it wasn't nearly as patient as it looked. "Is anyone else on their way?"

"I'm not sure. Last I checked, Mr. Stark is fulfilling babysitting duty at this hour."

Her smile fell, brows knitting in. "Babysitting what?"

"I thought he would have told you already. It's not like he kept other S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets from you." Fury let his arms drop to his sides, opening the door. "We brought Loki back from Asgard."

Pepper's jaw dropped.

Fury smiled straight at her, nodding his head. "I hear Agent Romanoff now—"

"When were you going to tell the press? When someone got killed?"

"I am on my way to a press conference now."

"In the middle of the night?" Pepper rolled her eyes. "How dumb do you think I am?"

"I had to arrange for it on the fly, considering the current situation. Now, if you'll—"

"No, I won't excuse you. How long has Loki been here? How long have you been sitting on this, just watching New York City _boiling over_? I could have been killed tonight! Happy could have been killed! They shot at Tony and Captain Rogers in the street! They attacked Natasha in plain daylight!"

"It's gotten a little out of hand."

"A little? You call that a little?" Pepper pointed toward the wall, though it was more a general direction sort of thing. The effect wasn't lost on him. "Have you even been out there, or are you too busy staring down from your lofty office to notice what the rest of us have to wade through?"

Thankfully, Agent Romanoff stepped in, not even glancing at him as he gestured to Pepper.

"Come on. Let's get some coffee or something."

Pepper gave him her best death glare on her way out of the room, and if looks could kill, he'd be liberally screwed right now. Thankfully, she wasn't nearly as super human as the others he had to deal with on a daily basis. Also, thankfully, she didn't keep up the interrogation, otherwise he'd have to offer a job and a security clearance to go with it.


	39. Part IV Chapter IX: Hold On

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, dark themes, psychological trauma, mind games. You know. The fun stuff.

**Author's Note: **Holy shit, am I really already on chapter 9 of this part? Wow. Almost done with this part. It kind of flew past… despite my horrible updating speed.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART IV: A DISTORTED REFLECTION**

**CHAPTER IX: HOLD ON**

He was already awake when he received the phone call. It was still dark out, but it wouldn't be for long. From his window, he could see the streets, see the city waking up. He wasn't watching today. He didn't move from where he sat on his bed, staring down at his hands, his feet, he wasn't really sure. It wasn't like his eyes were focused.

The tower was quiet, silent and still like a tomb. It might as well have been one. Everything was on lock down still, even more so than before, after the last night, and from what the Director had just told him, things were either about to get a little better or a lot worse.

Clint stood, grabbing his phone off the bedside table and shoving it in his pocket. It was already too late. The damage was done, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He might as well watch the aftermath.

0

Sometimes it was nice to just watch. There was something about the quiet, the lack of chaos, that was comforting.

Bruce moved around his lab, completely unaware. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, pushed up a little farther even. He leaned over a microscope, expertly turning the dials, before writing something down in a notebook. There was a computer screen right next to him, but old habits died hard.

Tony watched from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He breathed slowly, deeply, conscious of how much sound he made. Over the hum of machines, the similar hum of his arc reactor blended in perfectly, like an unintentional cloak. That was fine.

He just wanted to watch right now.

He just wanted to reaffirm that Bruce was really here.

That he was safe.

0

The last person he expected to see was Tasha. Then again, he was not expecting anyone to be in the common kitchen. Rogers was in his shift with the villain, Stark had just gotten off his shift, Banner had changed his schedule around to the point that no one really saw him anymore, and Tasha had a late shift as well.

She cradled a mug of tea in her hands, staring off at the wisps of steam gently coiling off the surface. She had probably gotten the call, too.

Clint sat next to her carefully, not saying anything. What was there to say? Too much, really, but silence was safer.

After a moment, she glanced up at the clock, then over at him, a forced little smile bending the corners of her lips. He knew that smile. It was never for good situations.

0

It was too much. Tony closed his eyes, and rather than hearing bombs and gunshots, he heard the cool tones of Loki's voice, slicing into his brain like a scalding scalpel. He knew. There was nothing he could do about it.

He shuddered, pressing a hand against his chest. It did nothing to relieve the tension, the pain, constricting around his heart. It wasn't the shrapnel. No, the arc reactor was still doing its duty, still keeping the electromagnet powered. It was something worse.

"Tony… are you okay?"

When Tony opened his eyes, Bruce was right in front of him, pulling off his glasses. The flecks of green in his eyes were born from worry, as was the shrill beep of his bracelet, always keeping a check on him. Bruce reached up, placing a soft hand on the side of his neck, thumb running over his jaw.

"What is it?"

Tony couldn't tell him.

Of all the factors he had considered when it came to Bruce's safety, Tony had never put himself into the equation.

And now he was the greatest threat.

0

The moment his hand moved, she reached over, threading her fingers through his. "Hey." She leaned over, smiling. Happy turned his head, just barely, letting out a loud groan. That was good. That was very good.

She gave his hand a pat, drawing his attention back in. A few stitches. Director Fury had made it sound like he'd just gotten a scratch. Thankfully, Happy wasn't doing too bad, considering. If S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't gotten there sooner… She didn't even want to think about it.

"You're okay." Happy tried to smile and really didn't live up to his nickname, but that was fine. It was never meant to be serious anyway. Pepper squeezed his hand harder, nodding. "Good."

"Agent Coulson saved me."

Happy gave a tiny nod, and it pulled on the tube connected to his nose. She reached forward, pushing it back into place, blinking furiously against the sting in her eyes. She'd managed to keep it together for Tony more times than she could count. She could keep it together for Happy, too.

He settled back in, relaxing. She could see the drugs in full effect, making his eyelids sag down. He'd be asleep again at any moment, and that was fine. It would give her a little bit to collect herself.

He didn't, though. He lifted his hand, fingers still wound with Pepper's, and pointed past her shoulder.

She turned slowly, swiveling on her chair.

He was pointing at the television.

0

It was all over the morning news. Every station had it, had the video reel taken from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s underground headquarters in NYC, separate from the Stark Tower. It was a safe location. Still would be, even with the video. There was nothing visible behind Fury beside the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo and concrete walls.

He really hoped no one would be able to trace it from just that.

Clint glanced down sharply, feeling a hand on his own. It was Tasha's. He opened his mouth, but she shushed him. They had relocated to the couch, turned on the television. It didn't matter what channel they put it to, because they were all the same.

There Director Fury was, announcing to the whole world what S.H.I.E.L.D. was, how long it had been around, who the founders were, the sort of projects they worked on. It was dry, to the point, but not too fast. No, it was just the right tempo that everyone could absorb it.

Clint wasn't sure how he felt about that. Especially when he started talking about the riots.

In just a matter of moments, the world would know just how much power it really had.

0

Bruce's breaths were even, deep, calm. Tony listened to them, moving slowly, just an inch at a time. He reached over without removing his eyes from Bruce, watching carefully, so carefully. His fingers brushed over the remote control for Bruce's bracelet, then onto his phone, which was buzzing.

Tony hid it under the sheets to block out the light, though it probably didn't matter. There were three messages, two from a number that had to be Fury, the other from Pepper. There was a text message, too. It was Fury. Tony took a mental note to block that number later, reading over the message.

He was going public with Loki's incarceration.

That was either a very brilliant tactic, or the one that was going to sink the ship. Tony frowned at the screen, then flicked the message out of the way. Bruce didn't stir once. That would be great, if he was actually tired.

No, there was too much he had to do and too little time to complete it.

Without a word, Tony slipped out of Bruce's grasp.

0

There it was. Clint hung his head, the words still echoing in the back of his head.

Loki was going to be tried for his past crimes against humanity.

"It is going to be fine." Tasha squeezed his hand, trying that smile again. He knew where he recognized the smile from, now. It was the one she used when reassuring someone who was on the wrong side of her scope. It was the smile she used on missions, behind enemy lines, when she needed to regain traction.

Nothing was going to be fine.

"When Loki's trial is done, who else are they going to bring in?" Clint looked away from the screen, to his hands. They were worn, calloused. He'd long ago washed the blood off, but sometimes he was still sure he could see it. "How many people do you think I killed under his control?"

"That's just it. You were under his control. That was him calling all the punches."

"Was it?" Clint pulled away from Natasha, frowning at the floor. "Or was he just another piece on an intergalactic chess board?"

She looked like she was about to say something, but nothing came out. A small crease formed between her brows, just enough to tell him she was thinking about it, honestly considering it.

"Have you looked into his eyes lately?"

Natasha sat back, realization flickering over her features. She tensed to stand.

"It's too late. If Director Fury calls this off now, we'll have a full out war in the streets."

She didn't move other than nodding. "Point of no return."

"Yeah. For all of us."

0

It was much like threading a needle with his mind, where he could not quite see the loop, having to go in completely blind. His eyes were closed, concentration entirely upon the metal binding him, binding his magic. He could feel it, the slight tug, that hole where some was managing to escape.

Slowly, so slowly, he pushed with his mind, tugging at that natural magic still left upon him like a string. After a few moments, when the pulse of blood through his head seemed too much, he realized he was not breathing.

Loki paused, repositioning his feet. They ached from being on them so long, a dull throb which traveled up his legs and gripped his back.

He was too close to stop now.

0

It slid over him like a second skin, drawing out a shiver. He pulled it up over his shoulder, smoothing it out. With the last of it seated under the line of his jaw, he pressed the button.

His ears popped. It felt like he was being squeezed, hard, and then everything settled. His skin tingled, the slight vibration of it all setting him on edge.

Swallowing roughly, Tony lifted his arm, taking a swing. It moved around him, readjusting for the flex of his muscles, continuing to grip.

He walked quickly to the middle of the floor, cleared out of tables. Once he was on the grid, he raised his arms to the side.

"Prepare to initiate in three… two… one…"

The pieces of the suit shivered, trembling on their respective tables. Tony took a deep breath, letting it out through his mouth.

"Come to papa."

Like a symphony, the parts lifted.


	40. Part IV Chapter X:A Distorted Reflection

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, dark themes, psychological trauma, mind games. You know. The fun stuff.

**Author's Note:** Last chapter of Part 4. Wow. I just. The reviews I've been getting are absolutely fantastic and keep me writing. Thank you guys so much for trusting me this long. I hope the coming parts continue to thrill and please you all. Love you guys.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART IV: A DISTORTED REFLECTION**

**CHAPTER X: A DISTORTED REFLECTION**

"What do you two talk about in there?"

Stark turned, half full glass bottle swinging in one hand, a tumbler with ice in the other. He blinked a few times before frowning. "How did you get access to this floor?"

Steve pursed his lips, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You're avoiding the question."

"That isn't true." Stark pointed at him with his glass, then poured an unhealthy amount of the amber liquid in it, setting the bottle aside. He put the stopper back into it, taking a sip. "This is a matter of security, Captain, and I think it takes precedence."

"This is a matter of security, too."

Stark rolled his eyes, leaning back against the bar, casual as always. It would be infuriating, if he wasn't used to it by now. Everything was casual with Stark. He just smiled and took another sip of his drink, watching Steve from over the rim of the glass. "How about we start over, then. You ask something not so vague, and I'll give you a not so vague answer. Then you tell me how the hell you got up here."

There was no way of avoiding this, so he might as well try going with it. The path of least resistance with Stark was always playing along. "When you are on shift guarding Loki's cell, what do the two of you talk about?"

Stark shrugged, waving his glass dismissively.

"You agreed to give an answer."

"I said I'd give a less vague answer."

Steve let out a frustrated sigh, fighting the urge to just walk back out. He had come here with a purpose, and he wasn't going to leave until he had some answers. Stark was trying to make him angry, and really, it was working, but he wouldn't give in.

"That wasn't less vague."

"Okay, how about this: it's nothing more than a pissing contest. Happy?"

"No." Steve glared him down, not flinching away in the slightest when Stark met his stare with a similar intensity. "I don't think you would have turned off the audio feed if it was just a pissing contest."

Stark's smirk fell, replaced by a neutral mask. He took another sip from his glass, then abandoned it on the bar, only half finished. Even though he wasn't in his Iron Man suit, rather in a tailored business suit, he was still intimidating. In fact, this might have been more intimidating.

He'd watched enough news to know just how much of a master manipulator Stark could be, especially where the media was involved. A black suit with a tie was just as much a suit of armor as his metal one was.

"Maybe Fury should have checked to make sure all the equipment was operational before commandeering the room."

"I've watched the video feed. I've been in the control room." Steve tensed, refusing to take even a single step back, even as Stark advanced slowly.

"And?"

"Whenever you're in there talking to Loki, the audio feed goes down. That's what."

"Maybe my arc reactor is causing interference." Stark tapped on his tie, where beneath it, they both knew the thing was. Steve had never seen it, but he'd read the file.

"It's never done that before."

"So, when the audio supposedly went out, where was I standing?"

Steve thought about it for a moment, frowning deeper. "Opposite from the guards, so the cell is between where you were and where they were."

"And where, in relation to that, are all the cameras?"

He was good. Steve didn't know what to say to that, but Stark's stare was unrelenting, that smirk pulling back up. "On the side where you were standing."

"As I said, probably proximity to my arc reactor, or maybe the repulsors on my gauntlet. Not all tech likes to play along." Stark shrugged, then went back to his glass, every ounce of him exuding confidence and that air of victory. It was sickening.

Something didn't seem right about that, but Steve couldn't argue. This man was the pinnacle of modern technology. Steve knew he was severely outgunned without first doing months worth of research, and even then, it would be an uphill battle.

It was a battle he would rather not have. Right now, there was no chance of winning, so he'd have to retreat, regroup.

"So it was just you being your usual charming self?"

"I take offense to that." Stark topped of his glass with a mock-offended look. Steve could tell he was joking. It was like this was an entertainment show. It was difficult to tell when Stark was being honest or when he was being camera ready. Sometimes he wondered if there was even a difference.

"Personally, I'm surprised you two haven't bonded over a mutual dislike of Thor and his distrust of technology." Steve let out a little laugh, trying to defuse the tension a little, now that he had an answer, even if it was still vague. The look Stark gave him told him he shouldn't have tried.

The gears were turning. It was the same look Howard got when he had a new idea.

"Tony, whatever you're thinking—"

"That is a brilliant idea."

"I don't think it's a good idea to—"

"To what? Piss him off? No, it's a great idea." Stark barked out a laugh, grinning. "Think about it. The trial is starting soon, and he's going to be there. Handcuffed or not, he's still a danger when not in a glass cell."

"So you're going to make him angry."

"No, I'm going to make sure he blows off enough steam _before_ the trial starts, so that he won't have the urge to defenestrate anyone there."

Steve blinked a few times, but didn't ask. He could tell there was no way he'd be able to talk Stark down from this. Maybe it would even be good.

0

Tony dropped his bag on the table with a clang, announcing his arrival. He didn't know why he brought the bag. Habit, probably. He wasn't planning on using anything in it, not tonight, at least. He had more important things to do.

Like pissing off their resident supervillain.

The guards did not even blink; they were used to him by now, it seemed. Loki turned, though, that sharp gaze rolling up him, appraising. Tony merely raised an eyebrow. He didn't look too different. Jeans, t-shirt, gauntlet with the wires reaching up under his sleeve to his arc reactor. It was the same old.

Except it wasn't the same old. Tony sauntered up to the glass, watching his own reflection on the outer shell of the cage. Every movement screamed certainty, confidence, from the square set of his shoulders to his gliding steps, the hard edge of his dark eyes to the smirk on his lips.

Loki's expression remained completely neutral, curious, if nothing else. His fingers fidgeted, just enough to know in any other situation, Loki might be using his magic. Defensively, offensively, it didn't matter, because his magic was bound by his shackles.

Tony knew he was safe, 100%, and it showed. He wasn't afraid to flaunt it.

"I've got a new subject for us."

"Oh? Do enlighten me."

Tony let out a little laugh, glancing over as he made a predatory circle of the cage. He stopped when he was at the back of it, pressing the button on his phone. The red light blinked into existence on the cameras, microphones off. Another few commands and the video feed was on a loop.

"Why do you hate Thor so much?"

Loki made a little clicking noise with his tongue, looking away sharply. His neutral mask became a kaleidoscope, flickering through anger, disgust, pride, and just a moment, fear, resentment, something deeper, like crushed hopes. Tony didn't dare blink, because one moment it was all there, on display, and the next he was looking impassive again, the only sign of the disturbance the taut line of his jaw.

"Careful. Might snap a few teeth, gritting them that hard."

"What would you know?" His voice seethed out, sharp and raw.

"Try me."

"What would you know about always being in another man's shadow, of not being the golden child, of never being the object of praise, when you are more than deserving?" Loki growled the words, hands shaking against the shackles. "What would you know about never having the love of your supposed family?"

That wasn't what he'd been expecting. Tony wetted his lips, but that didn't help the sudden dryness in his mouth. It only made it worse.

"A lot more than you think. As I said, try me."

Loki shook his head. "You first."

That wasn't the natural order of things. Loki always provided information, then Tony would follow. It was safer that way. He could think about it, plan his every word, decide how much he was willing to give of the truth, how many lies could be properly digested with them.

He could tell this was going to go nowhere fast, though, so he had no choice. The tables were flipped.

"Okay. I'll bite." Tony flexed his gauntlet, reassured by the flex of the metal supports around his arm, gripping it, cradling it comfortably. The repulsor let out a low whine, and he released the tension, looking up.

Even without his magic, Loki was very dangerous. He'd heard the stories. He was a master of words.

This was a risky dance he was getting himself in to.

"I know what it's like, struggling to impress a man who couldn't care less. I know what it's like to be shoved aside for something else entirely. I know what it's like to pour everything I've got into a project, only to be shut down, time and time again."

Loki swallowed, Tony only knowing because of the bob on the long column of his throat. Discomfort? Tony's smirk returned, bright and bitter, as was the laugh which escaped him. He glanced down at his gauntlet again. Sometimes he wondered what his father would have thought of the suit.

Or of what he was doing right now.

"And every time you were shut down, you tried harder, and harder, until you had nothing left to give."

Tony looked up sharply.

That wasn't Loki standing in the cell.

That was him.

He wore a suit, pressed and black, with a dark red dress shirt, black tie with gold pinstripes. Even then, Tony should see the glow of the arc reactor under that tie.

Staring out at him from in the cell was him.

"And, you know, it was great. I built things which were bigger and better, and you know what, it didn't matter. Never did. Because there was always something bigger and better than me." The man in the cell waved his hands, then crossed his arms, that bitter smile an exact copy of his own.

Tony shook his head, rubbing his eyes before looking again.

Loki stood there, hands still bound in shackles. Though his expression was entirely serious, there was mirth in his eyes. "I showed Odin time and again that I was the better son, the wiser son. I saved him from the king of the frost giants, I even tried wiping them out, all in his name, to finally get rid of the monsters which had been a thorn in his side for centuries. And there, hanging from the Bifrost, _he told me no_."

"I was nothing more than another one of his creations."

"And I was nothing more than a stolen relic."

Though it was Loki standing there now, tall and dark and powerful, Tony couldn't help but see himself in that cell. It had only been for a moment. If he blinked, he might have missed it.

But that was him.


	41. Part V Chapter I: Beginnings

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, dark themes, psychological trauma, mind games. You know. The fun stuff.

**Author's Note:** Welcome to Part 5! I am actually really excited about this.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART V: PERSONAL JUSTICE**

**CHAPTER I: BEGINNINGS**

It was like fire racing through his veins, a delicious shiver pulsing through his every pore. Loki opened his eyes slowly, and his mind tapped into everything around him. Behind him, at the far end of the room, he could feel the heartbeats of the two guards standing at the door, could feel the air shifting around them, the coiled tension in their muscles and the discomfort in their arms from staying poised on their guns.

More than that, he could feel the hum of wires in the walls, in the floor beneath his feet, giving life to the cell around him, to the watchful, mechanical eyes trained on him.

Everything was so much more alive.

He shifted, the air rippling around him, crackling with an energy he could feel, but no others could. A ghost of a smile traced his lips. He turned, gaze catching that of the good Captain.

Captain America, Steve Rogers, remained still, as though he was still frozen. Loki's smile broadened. The worry the man felt radiated off him in waves, thoughts like an open book, spread for him to read.

The Captain was worried about the metal man, or rather, the man inside the suit, a man who could barely be called a friend, if the definition was stretched.

It would be simple enough to drive a wedge between them.

0

She stopped at the last door, radioing out. "The ground perimeter check is complete. Everything is secure, all personnel are in place." She let off the button, lowering her hand.

"_The air is officially covered. Agents are in place. Secure._" Clint responded quickly, the crackle of his radio echoing down the hallway. She glanced in that direction, but did not go.

"Fury, we are awaiting further orders." Natasha crossed her arms, waiting as patiently as she could, given the situation.

They had taken every possible precaution, but somehow, it did not feel like enough. There were too many variables. Too many unknowns. It felt like they were going in not only blind, but with their hands tied.

"_Agent Romanoff, I need you to check out all of the camera crews for me. Agent Barton, report back to HQ_."

"_Director, I don't feel that's—_"

"_Do not argue with me right now. I expect to see you in 15._"

"_Yes, Director._"

Natasha was already on her way down to the lobby, double checking her work as she went. Everyone was in place. Nothing could go wrong. That was the plan, at least.

0

Tony hung up the phone, staring down at the screen for a moment longer, even as it disconnected. The elevator dinged, and he put his phone away, turning back to the coffee machine. It was nearly done brewing, but not fast enough. It was never fast enough.

"You're still up."

"The trial starts today." Tony spoke to the coffee pot, not willing to look up. He could hear the surprise in Bruce's voice. He couldn't look up. "It's going to be televised on just about every channel."

"We could record it."

Tony shrugged, pouring off a cup. The scotch had worn off, leaving him feeling drained. He needed to be fully awake for this. With what happened last night, there was no telling what might happen in the trial itself. Watching it live was the only safe option.

"Are you worried about the protestors?"

"Yeah." The lie fell easily from his lips. It even sounded true. Tony took a sip of his coffee, turning with a small smile. It was the most he could muster right now, with so much background noise buzzing around in his head. "They've already acted out more time than I care to count."

Bruce tried to smile as well, polishing slow circles on his glasses.

He had no idea. None of them did. Not yet.

0

The door opened without ceremony or pomp, black armored guards pouring in. Loki did not move other than to square his shoulders and lift his chin defiantly, never letting his gaze leave them. They were determined, yes, but also nervous, jarred away from comfort by something other than him.

Of course, they had every reason to be wary of him.

They were not wary enough.

Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, walked at the middle of their ranks, dressed in her sleek black uniform, battle ready. It would thrill him, if it was a battle he was seeking at the moment.

No, he had much better plans.

"I assume you are here to fetch me for this little trial of yours?"

She stopped, red lips becoming a tense line. He focused on her, the steady beat of her hard, the absolute lack of rattled nerves. She was composed, as were her thoughts, still as shrouded as their encounter in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s flying fortress. It was an unspoken challenge, really, one he was entirely too willing to accept.

"Yes."

It was a simple yet loaded answer. Loki tilted his head slightly, surveying her, keeping the others in mind. The Captain had lost his interest more than a Midgardian hour ago, but the tension he projected was stronger than ever, a pulse in his periphery. The guards all shifted in discomfort, eying his armor as though it could come alive at any moment.

There, in their thoughts, he could feel something else, too. There was a certainty, like the clang the executioner's axe made when biting all the way to the stone.

"Would your people not be biased against me, purely on my alien appearance?" Loki raised a dark brow, feeling the sudden shift clearer than it could be seen with eyes alone. Even the Widow shifted from foot to foot, the only manifestation of her discomfort.

He had struck true, yet again.

Loki moved his fingers quickly, words a reverent whisper under his breath. The tingling washed over him, as did a soft golden light, the lines of his armor dissolving into that of a well tailored black suit, complete with a white shirt and green tie.

The Widow's eyes widened just barely. All guns jumped up.

Laughing, he raised his hands, still bound—at least physically—by the shackles, not breaking her gaze. "Nothing to cause alarm."

"Lower your guns. Let's get this over with." She walked swiftly to the cage, disarming all the locks. Within moments, he was surrounded and on his way out.

0

Clint couldn't speak. He couldn't move. The words sank in slowly, hanging there in his mind, not quite wanting to take hold. He blinked once, twice, and nothing changed. The words were still there.

"How long have you known?"

It didn't even feel like it was him speaking, even though he heard his own voice, felt his lips move with them. He unclenched his hands at his sides. His arms were shaking.

Fury's expression didn't change in the slightest. He still sat comfortably on the edge of his desk, watching him closely. He gave a little shrug. "Since the beginning. Because of our involvement in the events under question, we will all have to testify."

"All of us?"

"Yes. All of us."

Clint closed his eyes. "That means none of the Avengers can be present to guard him during the trial. What part of this sounded like a good idea?"

"I'm only doing what is necessary." Fury stood, long coat scraping across the surface of the desk. "Without his magic, Loki is not nearly as much of a threat."

"Yeah, but he's not without his magic."

Clint spun, hand reaching for his pistol.

Steve stood in the doorway, still in red, white, and blue. He gave a short nod to Clint, and he let his hand drop. Fury was already halfway across the room, standing next to him now.

"What do you mean?"

"I just saw him morph his clothing, like he did in Germany. If that's not magic, I don't know what is."

"Where is he now?"

"They are transporting him to the courtroom."

Fury turned on the television screen. There were cameras all over the courtroom, all cleared. Guards stood at every door, heavily armed. In the middle of it all, being taken to his chair, was Loki, in a formal suit, barely visible on the feed. Static followed his image, almost blotting it out entirely.

That was different from the camera feed from the control room. Clint turned to Fury for orders, only to hear the reporter say they were calling for everyone to rise for the judge.

"We can't stop it now without causing a wide-spread panic, can we?" Clint glanced from the screen to Fury.

"Or without every world government stepping in and taking the reins." Fury frowned. "If we admit that Loki can't be controlled, even by us, we're going to have bigger issues than riots on our hands."

"You're just going to let this happen? There are countless innocent lives at stake here—"

"And all of our best security on hand with orders of shoot to kill. Captain, we have this."

"He has his magic—"

"But he has not attacked anyone yet. I will inform the guards to be on high alert, and I will keep a close watch on what is going on, even if I'm not supposed to be." Fury crossed his arms, staring at the screen. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a trial to secretly supervise."

Clint let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, glancing at the screen one last time. There was a man walking up the aisle, arguing with one of the guards, though none of the audio picked it up. He was interested, but kept going.

Fury was right. All they could do was watch and wait.

0

"Who are you?"

The man to Loki's right half-stood, tense, glancing quickly to the guards for assistance, which they gave none of. From what he understood, this man was to defend him during this entire process, a strange custom, indeed, but one he would not argue. If this was how they conducted justice on Midgard, so be it.

"My name is Jack Sullivan." The new man flashed a smile filled with a million lies, offering forward a hand to shake. "I've been sent to replace you." That smile did not drop, did not change, causing Loki to lean back in his chair a little bit with a twitch of a smile on his own lips.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, so move." The man did not budge, staring at him with a patient sort of gloating. His air was confident, the sort of confidence Loki saw on few other mortals.

"On whose authority?"

Sighing, Jack Sullivan pulled out a paper from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, passing it over. That done, he skirted around him, offering a hand down to Loki.

Loki reached up, taking the hand even though he felt about a hundred hands tense over the triggers of their respective guns. The hand shake was firm, not at all afraid, like this man who was originally to defend Loki. Already, he liked this new one a great deal better.

"Jack Sullivan, private attorney for one Anthony Edward Stark. You might know him."

Loki let his hands drop back to his lap slowly. "Pardon, but did you just say—"

"Yes, I did."

Finally, the other man left, giving Sullivan the seat, which he took quickly, flipping his briefcase up onto the table.

Loki settled back down again, not even bothering to restrain his smile this time.

Oh, this was working far better than he had ever dreamed of.


	42. Part V Chapter II: A Chance

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, dark themes, psychological trauma, mind games. You know. The fun stuff.

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the delay. Graduate studies stuff keeps coming up. Plus my actual writing gig. There's that, too. Hopefully it's worth the wait.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART V: PERSONAL JUSTICE**

**CHAPTER II: A CHANCE**

The television clicked off, silence rushing in to fill the void. He stood there, perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back. He stared, unblinking, from his one good eye, even though the screen was black now.

Maybe he was wrong.

It didn't normally happen. He liked knowing what cards everyone held, he liked keeping up to date on that kind of stuff, no matter what, so when he played his hand, he knew it'd hit hard, fast, and everywhere that mattered. S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't a quickly fired shot, it was the slow knife, sneaking in past the guard.

There were some things he just couldn't anticipate, though. Like Stark's private attorney showing up to give Loki something other than the world court appointed lawyer. He had all the proper credentials, too, so it wasn't like they could pull his ass out without making way too much noise and commotion.

Stark must have known that, otherwise he wouldn't have bothered. He must have known Fury had his hands tied. Yeah, he'd pulled a lot of strings, gotten the trial moved to NYC rather than the Hague, gotten S.H.I.E.L.D. security on it, managed to negotiate to get cameras from just about every news station and then some into the courthouse. But he couldn't pull enough strings to keep that damn attorney out. He was overstretched.

"What are you thinking?"

Fury turned his head, lopsided frown speaking volumes. Natasha remained near the door, stance spread, arms behind her. She looked like a military operative more than ever, all wired in and suited up. That's almost what they were. Almost.

"This trial may backfire on us."

"That was a risk you said you were willing to take when you started making the calls, Sir."

"I didn't realize Stark was going to call for backup."

Natasha gave a small shrug, the slightest smile quirking her lips. "We warned you about him."

"That you did. I didn't think he'd go that far, though." Fury turned all the way, settling back on the lip of the table. "Have you been able to get anything from the holding area yet?"

She shook her head. "No. He's good. I think he may have a signal dampener on him while he's in the cell area. Any hardware near him malfunctions."

Interesting. Maybe he should call Stark up to his office just to get a discrete scan on him to test that hypothesis. Then again, they could always do it while he was on his way down to the cell, since he'd volunteered to keep his shift during the trial.

He was the only one who volunteered. If that wasn't something to worry about, Fury didn't know what was.

"Have you been able to check out his workshop yet?"

"Security is too tight. I've managed to get a working card for Stark's penthouse, but so far, every time I get close to the R&D levels, the AI takes over my terminal and scrambles all the passwords."

"His AI does that?"

"Yes. I believe it is named JARVIS, which stands for Just A Really Very Intelligent System, or something just as equally uninspiring." Natasha quirked her head just enough that Fury knew she found it amusing, even if she stated otherwise. "JARVIS is a learning computer. Every attack I make, it learns from."

Fury nodded. It figured Stark would make something that advanced. It was just a wonder he had not programmed the damn thing into a suit yet. "So, his AI is wired into the R&D floors, and I'm assuming his personal quarters as well?"

"Not just that. I have reason to believe it's tapped into the mainframe of the entire tower."

Fury let out a slow breath, a low whistle coming with it. Wow. That was just magnificent. It hadn't been anywhere in the contract he signed, nor had it been brought up, but that sure as hell would explain a lot, like how Stark kept getting his hands on top secret files he didn't have any of the codes to.

"Change of plans. I want you to see if there is any way to lock this AI out of our systems, rather than us trying to get in to his. For now, at least. Use who you've got to."

"What about bugging the cell?"

"It can wait. If anything really weird happens down there, the guards will report it to me first."

"I'll start immediately."

"One more thing, Agent Romanoff." Fury paused, staring at the dark screen.

If this was timed right, it would make all the difference.

0

The paper dangled in the air before him, flapping slightly as the hand tried to straighten it. Tony stared at the paper, lips pursed, arms crossed over his chest. He lifted his glass to his lips, gaze trailing up the paper, the suit clad arm, and finally to the face.

"I see you're out of the hospital, Coulson."

"Take the paper, Mr. Stark."

Tony didn't move, staring him down. Coulson was as composed as ever, a deep running sort of calm. Or was it? Tony wondered sometimes. How much poking could Coulson take before that calm reserve vanished?

"I've got it." Bruce huffed a sigh and grabbed the paper, unfolding it. After a moment, he rolled his eyes, offering it to Tony.

Finally he grabbed it, flicking it open with his free hand. It was Tony's turn to roll his eyes. "Everyone have court summons, or am I just the luckiest man in the world?"

"All members of the Avengers Initiative who had direct contact with the defendant will be called to testify at the hearing and the trial, though the later will have more extensive questioning."

"Grand."

"That means you, Dr. Banner, are not required to take the stand, though you are free to attend the proceedings, so long as you do not discuss any of the testimony with your fellows."

This was just getting ridiculous. First Bruce didn't have to take part in guard duty, and now he didn't have to go to court. That was not even fair. At all. There was no level of fairness here.

"I think I'll pass, thanks." Bruce gave a small smile, putting a hand on Tony's shoulder. He squeezed and all the tension fled for the hills. Tony couldn't be mad at him. He could try, but it wouldn't work. Bruce would do that little smile, give that sheepish but completely knowing look. There it was. Tony looked away with a grin of his own, only to notice Coulson staring at them.

Coulson's smile wasn't one Tony wanted to see. It was like a nightmarish mix between Pep's smile, all patient but frustrated, and Natasha's smile, knives and poison. That couldn't be good.

"I figured you would want to see Mr. Stark's private attorney in action. I must have assumed wrong."

Tony felt that hand tighten again on his shoulder, but not at all in a calming way. In fact, it was a little too tight, and even though he squirmed to get out of it, Bruce kept firm. Great.

"Have a good day Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner." Coulson nodded to them both and turned, heading back for the elevator. It wasn't until the doors closed behind him that Bruce finally let go—his whole shoulder was cramping, how did he do that?—and turned him around.

"Private attorney?"

He shrugged—half-shrugged, since he couldn't get his other shoulder working yet. Tony brought his glass up to his lips, only for Bruce to pluck it away. "Hey! I wasn't—"

"You brought in your private attorney?"

"Look, I can explain—"

"Then explain!"

Tony held up his hands, going perfectly still. He'd never heard Bruce raise his voice before, at least not while he was actually still Bruce. He swallowed roughly, staring him straight in the eyes, where there was a lot more green than there should be. Tony glanced to the bracelet, then back to Bruce's eyes.

Bruce slammed the glass down on the bar, crossing his arms with a frown. "Explain. Now."

"I was just trying to give him a fighting chance."

"Tony, this man tried taking over Earth. He killed people. Controlled people into killing others. What is there to fight?"

He looked away, doing that count to ten thing Bruce told him about. It didn't do anything to calm the thundering of his heart. He shook his head, trying to speak, but Bruce pressed a finger to his lips.

"Look, I know you think you're doing what's best. I get that. But he's not like us, Tony. We're all… we're all heroes now. We've redeemed ourselves."

Tony reached up, moving his hand aside. He tried to smile, but it didn't quite work. It was bitter. He didn't want to use that with Bruce, but it was there anyway. "Yeah, we got the chance to redeem ourselves. He hasn't."

"Tony…"

He grabbed his glass back and brushed past him.

0

Bruce took a deep breath, shaking out his arms, checking his bracelet, before he finally knocked on the door, waiting with all the anticipation of a school child about to talk to the principal. That was pretty much what this was, only he wasn't the one in trouble this time.

"Come in."

He glanced down to the door handle, then back up at the polished wood, frowning. Right now, he could just turn back. He could go back to his lab, have a nice, relaxing night dissolving the nucleus walls on his cell samples so he could get at the mutated chromosomes. Fury wouldn't know the difference.

But he would.

Bruce grabbed the knob, entering the office for the first time. It was larger than he assumed. It was also lighter. Bruce glanced around, taking in the lack of personal effects. They were all in the same boat, in that regard. Or at least, almost. Bruce had Tony…

Fury quirked his eyebrow, blinking his one eye at Bruce when he turned around. "Dr. Banner, how may I help you?"

"You need to take Tony off guard duty tonight."

Fury sat forward, clearly interested. Bruce looked away. He wasn't sure how much the master spy could read from him, he only hoped the tinge of green had had time to fade.

"And who would you suggest as a replacement, Dr. Banner?"

"Me."


	43. Part V Chapter III: Letting Go

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, dark themes, psychological trauma, mind games. You know. The fun stuff.

**Author's Note: **

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART V: PERSONAL JUSTICE**

**CHAPTER III: LETTING GO**

"Hello Mr. Stark."

Tony swiveled, topping off his drink. He raised an eyebrow, then nodded, putting the stopper back in the bottle. "Agent."

Coulson gave him a small nod back, keeping his stance. Patience really was his virtue, it seemed. Tony bet he could stand there, minding his own business all night, and Coulson wouldn't give him a word in response.

Figured.

"So, what do I owe the pleasure of your visit to?" Tony put the bottle back, behind two rows of glasses and a box, hidden from general view. He'd probably have to move it, now that Coulson knew where it was. Someone was likely to find out.

"Director Fury has decided you deserve a night off."

That was interesting. Tony turned again, leaning back against the counter. He took a sip, not looking away from Coulson. He couldn't read him. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was frustrating, when everyone else was so damn easy.

"He's dismissing me."

"Not entirely. He is merely trying to fit everyone into the new rotation. Take it as a small vacation."

Tony pouted into his glass, but knew there was no point. He'd used the face on Coulson before, and only gotten extremely creative threats out of it. While trading notes with him on comebacks was an interesting pastime, he had better things to do.

Coulson stayed there, still staring him down. This was getting uncomfortable really quick.

"What?" Tony took another drink, eyebrow raised again.

"Nothing." Coulson swiveled, heading back to the elevator.

There was something Coulson wasn't telling him. Thankfully, it was something five minutes of hacking would shine some light on.

0

The door slithered shut, locks sliding into place. He could feel the sudden change in pressure around him, the increase in energy in all the walls of the cage. Loki did not take his eyes off the Black Widow, though, her fiery hair making her a sort of beacon in the drab surroundings.

"I suggest you put on your armor."

Loki tilted his head at that, gaze raking over her. She was in her uniform suit again, fully armed, but had yet to make a violent gesture towards him. The two guards frankly looked bored. It seemed they were expecting something to go wrong in transport, and might even be disappointed.

He was getting no answer from them, or from the Widow's impenetrable thoughts. Pity.

"And why is that?"

Her red lips pulled into the smallest smile, the same one she used when she had finished her interrogation. Without giving an answer further than an amused look, she spun, gliding out of the holding area.

There were no Avengers on guard right now.

Loki turned, glancing up at the cameras. He was no acquainted enough with Midgardian technology to know people could see him through the lens. It was just a matter, now, of seeing back through it. He could feel the sprawling network of the wires, rising high above his little cage, no doubt running through the entirety of the Tower, one way or another. If he could reach through it…

The door opened, Loki glancing quickly over his shoulder. It was Stark's turn at the post, as usual. Perhaps he could ask him about it.

He stiffened, staring at the glass, the reflection on it.

That was not Stark.

Oh tonight was definitely going to be interesting.

0

They were both asleep.

Tony leaned against the door frame, just watching. It was late. Of course they were asleep. He just hadn't expected to see Pepper there, least of all with her fingers threaded through Happy's.

He crossed his arms, muffling the dim light of the arc reactor through his shirt, the constant hum of it. He didn't want to disrupt them.

Pepper's face was smooth and relaxed, light hair in a pool around her slumped shoulders. Some of it brushed close to Happy's face, curling softly around his stubble lined jaw. There was tension in his face, in that jaw, a crease between his brows.

Happy opened his eyes, looking straight at him.

Tony didn't move. He met his gaze with the same intensity, hovering in the door, not quite in the room, not quite excluded from it.

After a moment, he smiled faintly.

They were all moving on.

Everything was going to be all right.

0

It would have been impossible not to notice the way Loki tensed, or the way the guards tensed as well. Bruce let a small smile blossom on his features, shifting nervously in the entryway. It felt like the whole world was holding its breath, or at least everyone in that room.

Bruce undid the buttons on his cuffs, rolling up the sleeves to his elbows. The shirt was loose, heavily worn, but that was fine. He did not want to potentially waste one of the shirts Tony had given him.

"Did I surprise you?" Bruce kept his voice calm, if only vaguely colored by his smile. If he started at neutral, it would not take much to drag him down. He had to start on a good note. A friendly note, even if his intentions were far from friendly.

Loki turned slowly, head canted, those sharp green eyes a little wide, just wide enough for Bruce to know he was startled. He could use an advantage right now.

"You were expecting Tony, right?" Bruce finished rolling up his sleeves, walking a slow circle around the cage. He had never been down here before, but it was a familiar sight. In a lot of ways, it reminded him of his _room_ in the helicarrier, only sparser, with less comforts, unless lacking a kill switch could be counted.

Loki said nothing, just turning to watch him, to observe. Bruce could practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to make right or left out of the situation. Good for him. Though he was trying to be patient, trying to step lightly, he knew that option had been taken away the moment the protests started.

"I'm going to make two assumptions. The first is that you know who I am. The second is that you know why I am here." Bruce paused, fiddling with his bracelet. Loki's eyes went to it immediately. Bruce's smile only grew. "This right here? Tony made it for me."

"Stark hardly seems the type for sentimentality."

"Perhaps not." Bruce shrugged, holding up his wrist so Loki could see the bracelet better. "This serves a purpose. You see, it helps keep the Other Guy under control. You remember the Other Guy, yes?"

Pain flickered across Loki's features just briefly. It was enough to see. Normally, that kind of reaction would bother him, but not from Loki. It was exactly the kind of reaction Bruce was looking for.

Bruce clicked the latch, pulling the bracelet up over his hand. He rolled it in his fingers for a moment, then put it in his pocket, rocking up on the heels of his feet. "Unless you want to get acquainted with my other half again, I suggest you play along."

"Of course." Loki breathed out the words, staring now at the bare spot where the bracelet had been, as if it was some sort of trick.

"Good." There was no trick. It was off. If the Other Guy wanted out, there would be nothing in his way to stop him. "You can start by telling me what, exactly, it is you did to Tony."

"I believe you are mistaken—"

"Do you hear that?" Bruce cupped a hand to his ear, turning his head slightly. "I hear you Asgardians have heightened senses. That is my blood pressure. Get used to the sound. It's rising."

Loki took a half step back from the glass, glancing over his shoulder at the guards. They were still tense, but not paying complete attention. Thankfully, they were close to a door, so if they had to run, they'd have a few moments to get out before the Other Guy tore through the glass of the cage.

"Let's start again, shall we?" Bruce leaned closer to the glass, still smiling. "What makes Tony think he should fight in your corner?"

"What made him fight in yours?"

Bruce felt the corners of his lips fall, just as the rush of blood through his ears nearly became too much to hear over. He took a deep breath, counting down from ten. The calm returned, the silence on the inside close to overwhelming. He filled it with his own voice.

"Do you want him to come out?"

Loki glanced down, fingers moving in a nervous twitch. Bruce would take that as a no. Good. That was good. Bruce counted up from ten again, steeling his nerves.

"What did you show him?"

Loki's face pulled into a grim smirk, a shiver rolling unchecked up Bruce's spine. Every muscle tensed, ready. He shook out his hands, shoving them back in his pockets. Running his finger over the bracelet was a small reassurance, even if he didn't have it on.

Finally he looked up again, meeting that sharp gaze halfway. He shouldn't have.

"I showed him himself."


	44. Part V Chapter IV: Breaking

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, dark themes, psychological trauma, mind games. You know. The fun stuff.

**Author's Note: **I forgot to put an author's note on the last one. Oops.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART V: PERSONAL JUSTICE**

**CHAPTER IV: BREAKING**

The roar is enough to make his blood run cold.

His glass tumbled from his hand.

He didn't get to see it hit the ground. He was already running.

0

Everything was in slow motion. His hands hit the glass. They felt too big. He felt fuzzy around the edges. He leaned close to the wall, staring at the glass. The gamma glow of his eyes stared back at him.

Bruce stumbled, feet sliding out from under him. He felt along the glass, staggering, grasping frantically for something to get moving on.

Blood rushed through his ears, pounded behind his eyes. Every muscle strained, pulling at him, trying to rip out of him.

The door banged open across from him. He couldn't see. Strong arms wrapped around him, propelling him forward.

"Elevator."

The voice didn't sound like him, like it came from him. It was from somewhere else. It was distant, caught between two tones like a tug of war. Him and the Other Guy. He gritted his teeth, grinding them hard together.

His knees hit the floor. He didn't even feel it. He curled his arms over his head, each breath raged, frantic, gasping. The air rattled in lungs too big.

The elevator doors opened. He surged through them, legs popping, wobbling. He slammed into the wall. It crunched. He stared at the crack for a moment, then pushed off with a hand, now a sickly green.

Almost there.

A roar ripped from his throat, more the Other Guy than him.

He was almost there.

0

The elevator was taking too long. He should have just suited up. It would have been faster. He would have been there already. He wouldn't have to search. One scan. Just one scan, and he'd know, and he'd be there.

By the time the doors opened, he was shaking. He steadied himself on the door, swallowing mouthfuls of stale air.

The second roar was louder, closer.

Tony went still, heart beating in his throat. He swallowed roughly, knuckles turning white on the doorframe.

There was no turning back now.

He started forward, first few steps shaking. Every one after that was determined, thudding as hard as his heart was behind the arc reactor. He held his breath, listening as he walked.

The crack in the wall should have told him to turn back. It only made him walk faster.

There he was.

The door to the wrecking room was open, lights on inside. Bruce was in there. Tony broke into a jog, darting through just as the door closed. He dropped to his knees, skidding up to Bruce.

The roar Bruce let out was loud enough to make his ears pop. He looked up. Every vein on his face looked near bursting, darker than they should be. His skin was dusted green. Those eyes could light up a room, with how bright and toxic they were shining.

"Bruce… Bruce, can you hear me?"

He reached out. Bruce slapped his arms away, growling deeper this time. Tony could see the muscles shifting, bulging, underneath his shirt.

This wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to let it.

Tony grabbed Bruce, hauling him closer. He wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing his face into his shoulder. Everything was hard under his grip, straining, but he didn't care. He only gripped tighter.

He had to hold Bruce together. He clutched at the pieces, trying to make them all fit back together, back into what he knew.

0

"What happened?" Natasha turned her head, regarding Rogers for a moment. He was pale, shaky, in full suit as well. He usually did his shift in full uniform, but this wasn't his shift. A quick sweep of the room told her Banner wasn't present either.

"He should not have been down here in the first place. Who authorized this?"

"The Director did." Natasha spoke the words coolly, refusing to show anything more than that. She needed to find out what happened immediately and get a full report to Director Fury. "What happened?"

"I only got to see part of it." Rogers readjusted his grip on his shield, frowning. "As soon as things started heading south on surveillance, I ran straight here. Thankfully I was in time to rush Banner out before it could get any worse."

Natasha took a deep breath, really looking around. The guards were shaken, actually trembling from head to foot, though they tried to keep on a strong face. They would need to be debriefed. Loki was actually sitting in his cell, which was also new. There did not seem to be any damage to the room itself, though, which was a relief.

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know. I got him to the elevator and came back here immediately. Someone had to guard him." Rogers nodded towards their prisoner.

Loki had definitely seen better days. His usually slicked back hair fell in a chaotic black halo around his chalk-pale features, eyes wider than they should have been. Perhaps he was reliving the moment when the Hulk tossed him around like a ragdoll. He sat with his long legs crossed, hands awkwardly holding at his ankles.

For the first time, it looked like his situation might actually be sinking in.

It was about time.

"Stay on guard. I will call for new agents to assist you and handle the debriefing. Details about this are not to leave this room, do you understand?"

Rogers opened his mouth, mask moving enough for Natasha to know the look he was giving. "How—"

"If we do let this leak, if anyone finds out about this, the entire case will fall to pieces, sanctions will be put into place against S.H.I.E.L.D. and many of our agents, Avengers included, will be subject to legal retribution." Natasha spoke plainly, knowing that was the only way Rogers would accept it. "Do I need to have you replaced?"

"No, ma'am." Rogers straightened his stance. It was artificial, she knew, but it would have to do. She patched into her communicator, starting the process now.

0

Tony slammed into the wall, air flying from his lungs. He threw his arms up as he fell, just in time. Pain shot up from his wrists, ached in his back from the impact. He scrambled to his knees. Each breath hurt.

It hurt worse to see Bruce like this.

The pop and crunch of bones realigning, of muscles expanding, had faded into background noise, like the whir of computers in his workshop. It was never ending. The growls, full of pain and fear, drowned it out for a few moments, but he'd rather not hear either.

Tony staggered back to his feet. The door was right beside him. It was right there. He could override the controls and leave.

He stumbled back to Bruce, dropping to his knees before him.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Bruce looked up sharply, teeth bared. His eyes were like acid, eating into him. Tony refused to look away. He grabbed Bruce's wrist.

The bracelet was gone.

He rubbed his thumb over the skin, not wanting to look down, not wanting to break Bruce's stare.

"Where's the bracelet, Bruce?" It took everything he had to make his voice steady, but damn if he was going to show fear. He couldn't. He wouldn't. "Just point."

A growl was the only response, Bruce's bulging arm flying again. Tony braced this time, only skidding back a little bit. He threw his hands down, digging in.

He should have gone. He knew that the moment he heard one final roar from Bruce, swallowed whole by the Hulk.

0

"JARVIS, I know you don't particularly like me right now, but I need your help." Natasha crossed her arms, frowning at the ceiling. With how Stark interacted with the AI, she knew he could read gestures. "Where is Dr. Banner?"

There was silence for a moment, like the AI was thinking. It would have bothered her, if she didn't expect it of Stark. Of course he would program human speech patterns in to it, and a lot more than they had ever considered.

"_Dr. Banner is currently in the containment room on his floor, Agent Romanoff. Will that be all?_"

She was glad to hear he had made it in time. The last thing they needed was the Hulk running through Stark Tower right now.

"Yes. That's all. Thank you."

"_A pleasure to be of service._"

0

There was a wall against his back. He leaned into it slowly, feeling the give of it, the resistance and the slight hum. It was his room. He'd made it. Bruce let out a shaky sigh, sagging back into the wall. Relief flooded him, and he let out a small laugh.

That was close. That was too close.

Bruce forced his eyes open, staring at the floor. There were shreds of that shirt, to no surprise, slightly trampled. He turned his head, taking himself in. There were no surprises. The pants had gone, too.

The bracelet was halfway across the room. It had survived somehow. Probably the metal it was made out of. He reached out, fingers brushing against it. Stretching, he readjusted, reaching out again.

All the color drained from him.

"Tony…" His voice was a hoarse croak. He pushed himself up, arms shaking, completely drained of the strength he'd had before. He crawled, dragging himself past the bracelet, to the other side of the room.

He was still. Curled in on himself. His black shirt was torn. There was blood on it.

"Tony… Tony…" Bruce touched his shoulder.

Tony flinched, jerking away.

Every nightmare he'd had about coming to this place was summed up in that one motion.

He couldn't stay.


	45. Part V Chapter V: Little Monsters

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, dark themes, psychological trauma, mind games. You know. The fun stuff.

**Author's Note: **This kind of hurts to write. I can't stop, though. I'm sorry.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART V: PERSONAL JUSTICE**

**CHAPTER V: LITTLE MONSTERS**

Sometimes it just felt good to hold it. He knew the gun would do no good. It never did. If anything, it would only make things worse, but right now, he just wanted its solid weight in his hands, the cool metal on his palms, the bullet in the chamber.

For right now, it was enough.

0

It wasn't the first time he'd been in his workshop, battered and bloodied, but unwilling to deal with it. It probably wouldn't be the last time, either.

The pieces of the Mark VIII circled around him, the only light that from their individual thrusters and power sources. Each had its own tiny arc reactor. They were a perfection to the prototype he and Bruce made together.

Tony let out a whistle of a breath, staring down at the floor. The stainless steel table next to him gave a distorted reflection, just enough to see the blood on his face, just enough to know he would have a black eye.

He didn't want the others to see it. He couldn't let them. He knew what they would say. They'd bring the Other Guy into it. Not just the Other Guy, but every accident he'd had before. They wouldn't let the past go.

Tony let out a bitter laugh. They'd never really stopped looking at him as the Merchant of Death, either.

0

He ran his finger over the safety, circling it slowly. He could feel grooves there, letters. Bruce turned the gun, squinting down at it.

Stark Industries.

Bruce let out a shaky breath.

Maybe the Other Guy was too tired to make another appearance. Maybe he'd stay down this time. Maybe he realized just how much he had broken, and would know to stand down, before he broke anything else.

Wasn't that a nice sentiment?

0

The cell doors opened, and he stayed perfectly still, hands bound before him, armor hanging heavily from his shoulders. The guards waited, the archer at their head this time.

"Aren't you going to change?"

Loki finally looked up, mouth dry. "To what purpose?" He leaned forward, trying to smile, but it was a broken little thing. "I am no idiot. I was not brought here for a fair trial. I was brought here to eliminate a potential future threat."

The archer stiffened, brows furrowing just enough so Loki could tell he did not know. Loki leaned back, laughing at the ceiling.

"You have fallen far, archer, to have your Director's trust so stripped from you."

His jaw tightened, fingers flexing. Those were the fingers he used to draw back the string of his bow, the fingers he used to rain destruction upon the Chitauri army. Loki knew exactly where he wanted to put an arrow—right between his eyes—and knew he could not, though he was straining hard against his leash.

He hadn't known just how much he enjoyed being in control until that control was taken away.

0

The knock on his door made him tense. He pursed his lips, giving a questioning look at the door. That could be one of two people. Bruce didn't want to take his chances.

"Who's there?"

"Just me, Doctor." Natasha's voice sounded from the other side of the door, strained but certain. She was the better option.

"Come in."

The door opened slowly, though Natasha entered quickly, gliding with the ease only a master assassin could have. He forgot that about her sometimes, except now, because she was giving the gun in his hands a dirty look and quirking an eyebrow at him. He wouldn't be surprised if she slapped him upside the head.

If only their exchange could be that pleasant.

"As you requested." Natasha tossed a long envelope down on the bed, nodding at it. "No way it can be traced. One way with dry leads going in every direction."

Bruce set the gun aside, picking up the envelop. He pulled out the single ticket. It was Spain this time. He'd always wanted to go to Spain.

"Thanks."

Natasha gave a little shrug. With one last look at the gun she slipped out again, as quiet as she'd come.

He needed to pack his things. He'd made the mistake of actually unpacking his travel bag for once. He'd never make that mistake again.

0

The bottle was empty. The edges barely felt dulled, everything still too sharp, too clear. He turned slowly in his chair, taking it all in.

He'd been deluding himself. He really had. He kept claiming the suit was a shield. Shields didn't come packing anti-tank missiles and repulsor powered smart bombs and lasers. The only difference was that he was the only one using the weapon. Him and Rhodey at least. There were no extra weapons to fall into enemy hands.

Tony tossed his glass down. It wobbled, then settled down, half melted ice cubes sliding in listless circles. There was more alcohol somewhere around the workshop. There always was. He probably shouldn't, with how much he'd already drank, with the pain killers numbing the edges.

When had that stopped him?

Tony lurched to his feet, stabilizing himself on the edge of the table. The room swam. He swallowed roughly, closing his eyes for a moment. Wrong idea. It only made the floor lurch under his feet. He stumbled, barely catching himself.

He should have just let himself fall. It would distract him from other pains.


	46. Part V Chapter VI: Hollow

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, two men in a relationship together, unethical practices, language, alcohol, dark themes, psychological trauma, mind games. You know. The fun stuff.

**Author's Note: **I love you guys, and I love your reviews. This story has really been gnawing at me lately, so here's some more. As a warning, though: I no longer have internet at home, which means updates are going to be happening on a completely weird schedule. Sorry about that!

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART V: PERSONAL JUSTICE**

**CHAPTER VI: HOLLOW**

"There is not enough evidence for this case to move forward into a trial. In fact, all evidence points to the fact that my client was a general of an opposing force during war. Those he killed were strategic targets in the invasion plan, and those his army killed were casualties of that war."

Fury stayed where he was, leaning against the back wall in the judge's chambers, arms crossed over his chest. If this was any other case, with any other defendant, Fury would probably take the side of Stark's attorney, Jack Sullivan, right now.

But this was Loki. Loki was a threat, if not to their realm, then every other one in the universe.

The judge looked straight at him. Sullivan turned as well, seeming to notice him for the first time. The man pointed, his smile starting to fall. Fury could tell when someone felt a little out of their league. He'd better, at least.

"Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D." He took a step forward, offering a hand. Sullivan took it slowly. Fury made sure to squeeze just a little too hard for him. "I think you and I have a few words to exchange."

"Look, I'd love to, but I'm in the middle of getting this trial dismissed—"

"You see, that's what you aren't getting." Fury didn't let go of his hand, grasping it firmly still, pressing a little harder. "If there is no trial, there are going to be thousands of infuriated people all over the world looking for all of our heads on a silver platter."

Sullivan's face changed, like a snap of the fingers. He got it. Fury could see that he really, actually got it. Fury smiled, letting go of Sullivan's hand. The man didn't move back, didn't make space for himself, though he'd been squirming not too long ago.

There was a defeated look in his eyes.

"Now, let me break this down for you. Loki is a threat. Not only did he try taking over his home world, he tried destroying another world, just because he didn't like the people there. And then, after sending a weapon of mass destruction here to hunt down his brother, he ended up finding an army, and bringing it instead.

"That was an act of war. He said, upon coming through the portal created by the Tesseract, that we were the ant, and he was the boot. You know what? He was right. He still is. Because he is still a threat to us, to Earth and protecting the human race. If something isn't done here, the people are going to shut down our little operation, and we're going to be a sitting duck for any of the other worlds out there to come and attack.

"All in all, he's still tearing us apart, just as effectively as he did when he was leading that army."

Sullivan closed his eyes, taking it all in.

"So, what were you saying about a motion?"

"This isn't justice."

Fury laughed, clapping a hand on his thigh. "Tell that to the protestors who attacked Stark's driver and personal assistant." He put a hand around Sullivan's shoulder, still forcing a smile as the man squirmed again. "There is going to be a trial. Not only is there going to be a trial, it is going to look like a real trial, and feel like a real trial, and everyone is going to _believe_ that it's a real trial. Am I clear?"

"Why even bother with a trial?"

He'd give it to Sullivan, he was smart, and had a pretty good set of nerves, not to be rattled past reasoning right now, but that's part of why Fury didn't like him. He'd seen Sullivan in action before. He was a force to be reckoned with. This didn't feel right, not yet.

"A few reasons. When I agreed to send Loki back to Asgard, I was trusting his people to deliver the proper justice. I was also trusting Earth to stumble back into sweet ignorance again, and forget about the fact that a super secret organization with superheroes had just saved the world from a god with an alien army."

Fury shrugged, giving Sullivan a pat on the shoulder. "We can't just kill Loki. I wish it was that simple. We have a treaty with Asgard, though, and I'm sure murdering one of their princes would ruin that. So you see the situation we're in. I didn't want it to come to this. I wanted everyone just to go off in their own directions and for everything to go back to business as usual."

The judge shuffled his papers, trying to look busy. S.H.I.E.L.D. had enough information on the man that he wouldn't dare speak to anyone outside the room about this. Sometime in the next hour, he was hoping Natasha would come back with a similar caliber of information on Sullivan. It would have been nice to have it before this conversation, but Sullivan forced his hand.

Fury let go of Sullivan's shoulder, still smiling. "I'm doing what I have to do to keep Earth safe. What about you?"

Sullivan looked down, taking a deep breath. There was no way to argue that, and they both knew it.

0

The whole floor was like a cemetery. It was silent, the air heavy, with little monuments to what had been and what was gone now. The lab had been tidied, all the equipment in order, computers put back in their proper places. Even the smudges from fingerprints had been cleaned off the glass screens.

It was like no one had been there. He should have expected it. He should have been ready for it.

Tony turned off the lights, stepping back out.

There was no note. He'd gone through the entire floor. He'd searched high and low. There was no note, no sign, nothing to go off of. The phone Tony had given him was there on the bedside table, powered off. The tablet he'd given him was on the table next to the couch. He'd even found the credit card he'd slipped into Bruce's bag the first time around; it was on the kitchen counter.

The bracelet was on the floor in the Hulk room.

That, right there, told him a lot more than he wanted to know. Tony knocked back the rest of his glass, letting it drop on the counter. The glass almost fell. He didn't care. He had more. He had a whole damn army of glasses.

Tony bent, scooping up the bracelet. There was a tiny web-work of cracks on the screen, but that was the only real damage. It was aesthetic. All the readings still worked. The bracelet had made out better than him, that was for sure.

He threw it as hard as he could, staggering with the momentum.

0

"What are you doing?" He held the bottle between his hands, rolling it slowly back and forth. The condensation felt good on his sore hands. It was something to focus on, at least. Tasha was still in full uniform, three different files tucked under her arm. He couldn't see what they were from here—she'd carefully concealed any markings—but he knew at least one of them had to do with the trial.

Tasha slid up on the stool next to him, not looking at him, not looking at the files, not really looking anywhere. Clint strummed his fingers on the bottle, waiting. He knew she'd answer. She wouldn't have sat down otherwise.

"I'm doing what I have to."

Clint took a deep breath, holding it for a moment. He let it out with a huff. "Why do you have to?"

"It will save innocent lives."

"Sacrificing one to potentially save countless more." Clint rolled the bottle back the other way. The label was starting to bubble under his palms. With a little more pressure, a little more friction, the label would come right off. Adhesive was interesting that way. Ripping at it didn't work. It was always the slow pull which made it come undone.

Clint had the feeling that was exactly what Loki was doing to them.

Maybe Tasha could sense that. She stood, not saying anything else. Clint was cut out of the loop. Then again, he'd never really been back in it.


	47. Part V Chapter VII: Bonds

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, unethical practices, alcoholism, angst, broken hearts, mental breakdowns, men attracted to other men, the sort.

**Author's Note: **I am so sorry this took so long. I've been busting my ass with two jobs, and just started grad school, which is kicking my ass. My current plan is to try and get a chapter done a week on this, now that I'm so insanely busy.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART V: PERSONAL JUSTICE**

**CHAPTER VII: BONDS**

"What is the situation on the ground?" He didn't turn away from the window, staring out at the sprawling expanse of Manhattan. How much the city had expanded in the last seventy years didn't really surprise him anymore. After aliens, it felt like nothing really could… at least until the protests.

It wasn't the technology that shocked him. It was the people.

"The violence has calmed down." Natasha's voice was cool and even as always. "Everyone is waiting expectantly."

"Waiting for what, exactly?"

She didn't respond immediately. Steve glanced over his shoulder, trying hard not to frown. She was doing her job. She was trained for this. Not this specifically, but dealing with sensitive matters with a level head, deciphering people, keeping an eye on all potential threats. At least that was what he assumed. He'd read files, at least what part of them S.H.I.E.L.D. gave him access to, and that's what they told him.

Trusting authority had never been this difficult before. Then again, nothing was really black and white, anymore. There was no defined good and evil. The grey area was driving him up a wall.

She walked up next to him, staring out over the Manhattan skyline as well. "You have proven yourself more than capable in the past. Why are you going through me for information?"

It was an accusation, even if she kept completely neutral in the process. He could read her that well now, at the very least.

"Consider it an extension of trust." Steve stepped away from the window, tucking his hands in his pockets as he walked. He honestly didn't care what her answer was. He'd spoken his piece and done so truthfully; anything more would likely ruin their careful balancing act.

Right now, that balancing act needed all the help it could get.

The silence was absolutely oppressive, and yet, it didn't feel quite right to drown it out with music. Loud music hadn't been a part of his workshop in a really long time, now that he thought about it. It gave Bruce headaches. They couldn't chat over it. A million reasons, all with one source.

The source wasn't here anymore.

He really didn't feel like dealing with the silence.

Tony pulled on the vibranium-titanium alloy undersuit, hooking it in. It felt like a second skin, sliding with every movement, smooth and measured. The rest of the suit assembled around him as he walked, locking into place with automated pistons and gears, run by miniature versions of the arc reactor.

The new suit was a glowing beacon to technological advancement. Literally. A few more tweaks, and it would be ready for anything.

With a hiss, the helmet slid into face, heads up display initializing.

"JARVIS, run diagnostics. How's it holding up?"

After a moment, all the displays were live, showing him exactly what was going on. JARVIS answered him regardless, as he was asked to. "_Sir, the power output is much higher than any of your previous suits. Even with the additional arc reactors, I fear_—"

"That's not what I asked."

"_Of course, Sir. Everything is running as designed._"

"Thank you." Tony shrugged his shoulders, the suit flexing with him like a living exoskeleton. It didn't even feel like a suit anymore, not like an armor, but like _him_, finally just _him_. "Sync up with the system and tell me who's on the roster tonight."

"_It seems as though S.H.I.E.L.D. has been intensifying their firewalls in the last few weeks._"

"Is it a problem?"

"_Never, Sir. The roster indicates that Agent Barton will be supervising the holding block tonight._"

"Patch me through to him."

In a few moments, he could hear the cell. It was too loud, but he could deal with that. He could hear the guards shifting and the soft, agile footfalls of Clint pacing. He couldn't hear Loki at all, but he guessed he was standing stone still, like usual.

"Can you hear me now?"

There was a pause in the steps. JARVIS looped him into the video feed, and he could see Clint standing, frowning at the ceiling. "_What is it, Stark? Kind of busy right now._"

"I can see that." Tony let out a dark chuckle. "How long have you been down there?"

Clint glanced at the wall clock, then looked directly into the camera with a noncommittal shrug. "_Two hours. Why?_"

"I'm heading down."

"_Look, I don't know if it's a good idea, considering_—"

"If you say his name, I swear to Tesla that I will program every one of your arrow tips to lock onto you like a homing missile."

"_Fine, but you still didn't address the issue._"

"I'll see you in ten." Tony disconnected the call, firing up the thrusters. Ten minutes was enough time for a quick test flight.

0

When the door opened, he was not sure what to be expecting. The days and nights had effectively blurred, even though they came in distinct cycles. During the day, he was in the court room, listening to the evidence against him, watching as the spirit of his once outspoken attorney became more and more wilted under the heat of an unseen flame. During the night, he had a variety of guards, none of which were the also outspoken metal man.

So when that door opened, he caught himself holding his breath.

Stark sauntered into the room, wearing plain clothing, though something felt horribly off. It was not just that the sleeves of his black shirt were not pushed up, falling to his wrists on this night, nor the light from his chest, which seemed entirely more muted than before.

It was something which sent a cold chill up his spine, like a knife slowly easing beneath his skin and making it dance against his will. He could feel the air around Stark, could make it a light with magic if he so willed it, but Stark himself felt utterly off limits, like he'd been shut off.

He would not be able to rely upon magic tonight. It was a challenge. He liked challenges.

Loki turned, watching Stark closely as he had a quick, clipped conversation with the archer. Stark looked haggard, at least in the way his facial hair was not so perfectly groomed, some dark stubble blossoming along his jaw, and in the slight grey beneath his eyes. That was before he even noticed the eyes, themselves.

There was something dead in those once emotive eyes.

This was fascinating. He took a step closer, canting his head, lips pursed in concentration. This was more than fascinating. Stark had seemed a master of many masks, a man who could slip from one face to the next so fluidly no one could tell which one was real. This fissure he was seeing, this crack, went through all of them.

He was slipping.

Loki caught a smile as it fought to break across his lips. He suppressed it just in time, the archer casting a glance his way before leaving quickly. Loki wasn't sure if he should be relieved Stark had returned to his post, or if he should be deeply worried, considering the fact that all his companions seemed to be walking on thin ice of late, the fact that the beast had nearly broken himself down here, attempting to goad him.

"What brings you to my humble abode, Stark?" Loki moved slowly, drawing ever closer to the glass, shackled hands stretching out so his fingers could brush the transparent surface. If it was not for the field projected into the glass itself, he would be able to step through it, ignore the cage entirely.

Stark shrugged, sitting easily on the chair. He leaned back, eating some sort of food from a metallic seeming bag. Whatever the food was, it was small and crunched just loud enough to grate at his ears. From the expression on Stark's face, falsely neutral, the man knew just how annoying it was.

"Surely you were enjoying your time free from supervising me?" Loki stopped, just an inch from the glass, each breath leaving a small fan of mist in its wake. "Surely there are more interesting things to do, people to see?"

Again, Stark shrugged, popping more of the food easily in his mouth, chewing it loudly. If Loki had not been observing so closely, he would have missed the slight twitch of Stark's eyes, nearly kept in control, the flick of tension in his jaw line.

That hit something, something deep and still raw. Loki knew not to push too far, too fast; the slow knife was what he needed here, the one that would slip in slowly, past all the defenses unnoticed until it was too late.

If the Beast was no longer present, that meant Stark's life was far more destabilized than Loki first anticipated. Even so, Stark seemed even keeled, put together, like he was perfectly used to hiding his wounds from all onlookers. Loki would go so far to assume Stark did not truly have any close enough friends to trust with such wounds.

Perfect.

"Have you no burning questions you wish to ask, no curiosities you wish to sate?" Loki remained neutral as well, even if disappointment managed to leak into his voice. Perhaps it would even work to his advantage.

"Sounds like you missed me." Stark's tone did not change in the least, even as a quirked an eyebrow. He kept eating, rocking lightly back and forth on his chair.

"Of all the Avengers, you are the only one to treat me like an actual person."

Stark closed his eyes for a moment, sucking in a deep breath. Loki had the distinct feeling he had just dug his fingers into a rather sore wound and pushed, even if he had no intention of it.

"You know what?" Stark sat forward sharply, feet of the chair banging loudly against the concrete. "You want to talk so much? Riddle me this: If magic is so damn hated in Asgard, why'd you pursue it? You knew you'd be a social pariah, but you did it anyway. Why?"

Loki frowned, creases forming between his brows. Of all the questions he had expected, this was not one of them. His fingers twitched, moving this way and that of their own, wanting to weave the threads of magic into a tangible force, show Stark the way it made his blood sing, the way it brought light and life to his eyes.

No, there was a far better way to express this other than mere demonstration. Showing could only go so far in this instance, especially with the tense guards, fingers near the triggers of their guns, and Stark, feeling utterly untouchable.

He had to do better than that, and without the aid of magic, this time.

"It began as an itch, constant, unrelenting, compelling my fingers to move, to create. At first it was harmless. I built small things out of real materials, but they were too constricting. I needed to do more, have more control over the process."

Stark was sitting forward now, expression still neutral, though there was something like recognition in his eyes. His fingers moved, as though they itched as well. He no doubt yearned to hold his tools, to create with them.

"Magic allowed me to do that. Magic filled the void with life and creation. I did not care that it would separate me from the flock. I never belonged amongst the Aesir regardless."

A silence fell, though it felt nowhere near as precarious as the one shared between he and the archer, nor as dangerous as the silence between he and the Widow. This was almost comfortable.

Finally, Stark rocked back on his chair again, an open, inviting position. Loki knew exactly what the invitation was for.

It was his turn.

"Tell me, when did your interest in Midgardian science begin and why? What fuels your continued fervor?"

A small smile flicked at the corners of Stark's lips, wrinkles crinkling around his eyes. This topic was obviously the perfect sort of catharsis Stark had been seeking.

0

It was strange, sitting down in such a public place without a single fear. No one seemed to notice him, or to care. In fact, the little internet café, with its dark walls, dim lighting, and electronic music, seemed to be the sort of place where people purposefully ignored one another.

He shifted in his chair, straightening the web camera facing him. The outgoing window had him framed perfectly after a few tweaks, and soon enough, the ingoing line flickered to life, Natasha sitting down on the other side.

"How is your stay in Barcelona so far, Dr. Banner?" She gave that tiny smile, the one that wasn't completely fake, which was actually somewhat pleasant. She seemed much more comfortable with him halfway around the world, not that he could blame her.

He gave the same sort of smile back. It was slow and growing, only lukewarm, but not entirely forced. He touched his wrist out of habit, only feeling skin. Quickly, he pulled his hand away, smile dipping easily into a frown.

"It's nice." He gave a little shrug. "The scenery is great, but I'm thinking of going further south to find a clinic that needs me. All the ones here are well staffed."

"You don't have to work in small clinics anymore. You could probably find a lab that would be glad to take you in."

"That's probably not a good idea." He shook his head, letting out a little laugh. If he went to work at any lab, no matter how small, the ripples of his influence would spread across the science community, and build up enough momentum that when word hit NYC, it'd be a tsunami.

That was a very bad idea, indeed.

Natasha seemed to understand that, not pressing the matter. "How are you holding up?"

Maybe that was a worse question. He drummed his fingers on the desk, counting to ten before forcing an answer. "I'm fine."

She nodded, crossing her arms. "I thought we had an honesty clause."

"I'm being honest."

She pursed her lips, gaze flicking down. "That yellow shirt was his, wasn't it?"

Bruce let out a shaky breath. It was. Tony had lent him the yellow shirt and grey slacks he was currently wearing, and when he tried to give them back, was denied. He didn't have it in him to just leave it all.

"Sorry, I shouldn't—"

"It's fine. Really. I…" Bruce looked down, at the tan line on his wrist, at his fingers, which felt restless without anything useful to do. "I can't just run from it."

"But isn't that what you're doing?"

Bruce closed his eyes, tensing. When he'd opened them again, Natasha was already disconnected.


	48. Part V Chapter VIII: Another Nail

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** social unrest, unethical practices, alcoholism, angst, broken hearts, mental breakdowns, men attracted to other men, the sort.

**Author's Note: **And my weekly update is here! I wish I could work on this more than once a week. Alas, my homework load is too insane. Sorry guys! Hopefully it was worth the wait!

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART V: PERSONAL JUSTICE**

**CHAPTER VIII: ANOTHER NAIL**

It was late. Or early. He didn't really keep track any more. With a half-stifled yawn, Tony poured himself a cup of coffee, knocking it back quickly before getting another. Even cold coffee was better than no coffee, especially right now.

It'd been an interesting night-day-whatever so far, and his brain would not stop moving. It was like running. You couldn't sprint for an hour straight then come to a standstill. He needed to jog it off, and what better place than his lab?

Tony snapped his fingers as he walked, computers powering on, booting up, in his wake. Soon enough the entire floor was bathed in that cold blue light, giving dimensions to the work tables which were otherwise left in the dark, to discarded tools and half-finished projects, some of which would never be completed.

Thankfully, JARVIS was a good boy and didn't power on any of the overhead lights. He was doing as he was told, like he was programmed to. Tony was glad that he didn't need an intelligence inhibiting core to slow JARVIS's AI down. He was good at making smart, not at making stupid. Maybe he could subcontract it…

Right. Walking it off.

Tony spun, pursing his lips as he considered it all. Flying always gave him a burst of adrenalin. Once that adrenalin wore off, he'd be tried and probably sleep like a rock, but he'd already taken the new suit for a whirl, so it felt like a waste of time. From the progress bar, he could tell JARVIS wasn't done with the initial diagnostics, so it really would be a waste.

Thankfully, even without the suit, there was always something to do in the workshop.

0

"You seem worried."

Steve glanced over his shoulder, and then pulled out the chair next to him. Coulson gave a small smile and smaller wave of his hand, dismissing the offer entirely. It was still strange, to see Phil around the Tower, to hear him mentioned by S.H.I.E.L.D. employees and at meetings. He couldn't help but remember those cards, the vintage set, with what looked like blood on them.

After a moment, he gave a shrug, wringing his hands together slowly, using the motion to gather his thoughts.

"If there is anything I can be of assistance with, please inform me." Phil shifted on his feet, the only real sign that he wasn't a statue. "Director Fury has tasked me with insuring the continued cohesion of the team."

Steve nodded, and glanced up at him again, frowning. "You'd still call us a team?"

Phil's expression became a little more pinched, but other than that, there wasn't really a change. Steve wondered what was going on under all those layers of professionalism, but didn't dare ask. He knew they were all walking on a field of glass right now, which could break at any moment. The question he'd already asked was probably a bit too much.

"I believe that if there was a threat, the team would still be able to come back together."

He sighed. "Isn't Loki a threat?"

There it was. A flinch. Phil quickly covered it, though, shifting again. "He is currently cooperating."

"That's what we thought in the helicarrier."

"Circumstances are different now. We are not at a disadvantage—"

"You weren't there. I saw Dr. Banner on the verge of breaking, fighting so hard against that beast he holds inside him, and that was just from Loki talking." Steve stood, taking a deep breath. He towered over Phil, and wasn't entirely comfortable with that obvious shift in power. He was a super soldier. He was made for this kind of threat. Phil was just a man. Then again, weren't they all in the end? "And now, with his magic—"

"He still has not made a hostile move. Until that time, he will not be classified as a threat to this organization or to Earth." It was Phil's turn to take a deep breath. Steve could see just how uncomfortable he was. He probably hated arguing with his hero, but duty, it seemed, came first. Good. Steve wouldn't feel bad about arguing back.

"I think we're missing something big."

"I'll keep that in mind. Is that all, Captain Rogers?"

Steve closed his eyes, then nodded, conceding. "Yeah."

"Have a good night."

0

He slid out from under the engine, closing his eyes against the sudden brightness of the overhead lights. Sweat rolled off his forehead in rivers, mixed with grease and oil now. He rubbed his arm across his forehead, picking up some of it, then draped his arm over his eyes, letting out a deep breath.

If he didn't move, he'd fall asleep right there. That almost sounded like a good idea.

0

The glass was cool against his back, though he could barely feel it through the thick leathers he still donned, and through his hair as he pressed his head back, leaning upon it heavily. The floor was almost passable as comfortable. At the very least, his feet and legs, and perhaps back as well, at this point, would agree with that assertion. It was a step above standing, at the very least.

Loki closed his eyes, paying no heed to his guard whatsoever. She was watching him closely, but he would give nothing. Unless she had suddenly become a skilled telepath, she would know no difference, with his mind far away and preoccupied.

Stretching, he could feel it. He had grown accustomed enough to the signatures of each of the Avengers, to the energy which circled them, some in lazy circles, some in a manic whirl. The latter was what he sought out and found quickly, far, far above him.

If he was going to be transported to the courthouse today, they already would have fetched him. He had the time.

Loki relaxed, settling in for an extremely interesting journey.

0

_Tony looked over his shoulder with a sharp jerk, panting out breath after breath. His chest hurt, but he couldn't stop. He plotted out a route through the trees and jumped for it, racing over fallen branches and ducking under vines._

_Communications were down. He checked his phone again. Nothing. He got service everywhere but here. He couldn't even get through to the satellite. Someone had to be jamming the signal. That was the only way._

_The crash of trees behind him was growing. Without his suit, there was no way he could outrun him. He had to look for a place to hide, a safe place, structurally sound. The thought that anything in nature could withstand the full force of the Hulk might have been humoring, if he wasn't just about to praying to find one._

0

There was something going on. She wasn't sure what, but it was something. Natasha leaned forward on her chair, arms leaned on her thighs. Loki didn't even glance up at the motion, didn't even move. He was just sitting there, leaning back like the cage was a chair. He almost looked like he was sleeping.

Every now and then, she would see a crease form between his brows, see the slightest change in his breathing, and knew that wasn't the case.

He was up to something. He had to be.

0

"_I shouldn't be surprised."_

_Tony stood slowly, legs shaking. That was Bruce's voice. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, tongue freezing in place. There he was. Bruce, not the Other Guy. He was in a dress shirt, slacks, completely untouched by the jungle, by running. _

_He tried to smile, to laugh from joy, but it cracked as he got a closer look at Bruce. There was no humor, no happiness, in the rough set of his jaw, in the downward curve of his lips, or the hard edge of his dark eyes._

"_I kept telling myself that you weren't what the tabloids painted you as." Bruce barked an ugly laugh at that, wringing his hands together. He wasn't wearing the bracelet. It was still at the Tower, of course he wasn't. "I was being delusional. We all were, weren't we?"_

"_What do you…" Tony took a step forward, reaching out. Bruce stepped just outside his reach._

_The pain in his chest was a different sort. Not from overexertion. Not from the stress of the arc reactor. This was like a bone-deep bruise that'd just been prodded._

"_Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you." Bruce looked down, considering the ground as if it had all the answers in the world. Tony looked too, but could only see trampled dirt. "You never did stop making weapons."_

"_That's not true." Tony couldn't stop the angry edge of his voice if he tried. Of all the people in the world, Bruce was the last one he wanted saying that. "I stopped. I hunted down the whole Freedom line, I—"_

"_Don't lie to me. I saw the files." Bruce's growl wasn't entirely his own. Tony went still, breath a whisper. This wasn't good. "You've been making weapons for S.H.I.E.L.D. for years. The Hulk-busters were only the beginning."_

"_That was a long time ago. Before I met you. Bruce, please, just—"_

"_You're being used by Fury. He lets you keep the suit, you keep popping out new weapons like a Pez dispenser. I'd say I get it, but I thought you were better than that."_

0

It was time to rotate guards. Clint stretched, running through each of the motions, getting limber.

When he arrived, Coulson was standing outside the door. Clint stopped in his tracks, glancing him over. Coulson just gave him a thin lipped smile and a nod. Clint nodded back, stepping through the door.

Though he was prepared for the worst, it didn't look like it was warranted. Loki was sitting, meditating, or whatever he did, and Tasha looked like she was about to be bored to death. Clint jerked his thumb at the door, fixing her with a stern glance.

She nodded and stood, hurrying out the door. Clint took her place and kicked his feet up. He might as well settle in, if it was going to be one of those kinds of days.

0

_Dust and sand rolled in clouds around them, mixed with the smoke and ash of the near fire. He reached down, gears grinding in the joints of the steel suit. Yensin was still smiling, despite the fact that the rubble was too dark beneath him._

"_Don't waste it."_

0

Loki opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. The cage was still around him, firm and cold. The guard had changed while he was distant, the archer not even paying him the least bit of attention. That was good. His intrusion would go unnoticed, at least until it was too late.


	49. Part V Chapter IX: The Cliff

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** mental breakdown, skewed justice, manipulation, mind-games, espionage, dark themes, social unrest, unhappy stuff, the list keeps going. If you've made it this far, you should know what to expect.

**Author's Note: **Sorry this update wasn't on schedule. I was busier than expected all last week, so I didn't have any time until this weekend, which got eaten up pretty quickly. If you want to see my progress updates, go to my tumblr: battery-powered-genius.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART V: PERSONAL JUSTICE**

**CHAPTER IX: THE CLIFF**

His fingers scraped angry arcs against the smooth cover of the arc reactor, over the scarred, desensitized flesh around it. He coughed, choking for a moment. It burned all the way through him. Gasping, heart beating a wounded war song behind the electromagnet, he forced himself to speak, something, anything to ground himself.

"JARVIS, lights to 40%, slow fade. International news on the window, focus on disasters, natural or otherwise. And start a cup of coffee."

Tony grimaced. His throat was raw, voice sounding little better than a croak, but it was something. That was exactly what he needed.

As the lights faded up, he could see he was in his room, large and cavernous, but in no way a cave. He was surrounded by his own minimalistic if richly colored sense of style, not to mention his technology.

These should have been comforts. They would have been, they really would have, if it hadn't been for the fact that he could see it all so vividly, _feel it all_, like he had actually been there. Tony ran a hand up over his face, wiping rivulets of cooled sweat across his skin, through his hair. He didn't care. It wasn't like he had an audience up here, anymore.

The smell of coffee brewing hit him full force, and he couldn't just sit there anymore. He sprang up, striding quickly out of the partially walled sanctuary of his room and into the sitting area. He grabbed a mug and filled it, drinking half of it without even cringing at the heat. His tongue would probably hate him later, feel fuzzy for a while, but he wasn't hungry, probably wouldn't be for a while, so no harm.

"JARVIS, still with me there?"

"_Yes, Sir, I am always here for you_."

Tony closed his eyes, taking another sip as he settled his nerves. He'd like to tell himself that JARVIS didn't know what he was saying, but that'd be a blatant lie, now wouldn't it? It was just another sign of his brilliance not quite being what it needed to be.

"I need records of all materials S.H.I.E.L.D. has purchased from Stark Industries and a list of all StarkTech they are currently employing."

"_Would you like me to clear the news?_"

Tony glanced over at the window, various articles projected across it. He shook his head, crossing over to the glass. "No. Put them on my tablet, routed through my private server. This stays between us, do you understand?"

"_And what of Miss Potts?_"

"As I said, this stays between us." Tony flicked through the articles quickly, scanning them for keywords. He didn't see anything he was looking for, flicking each page aside as he was done with it. JARVIS made a game of it, putting an image of a trash-slot at the end of the windows, and it would ding and buzz every time Tony flicked a page into it. He frowned, but didn't make JARVIS stop. It was the thought which counted.

Soon enough he was through all the news articles JARVIS had supplied for him, the window all that was between him and the early morning Manhattan skyline. Tony sighed, grabbing another full mug of coffee.

"Add any and all sub-contractors under S.H.I.E.L.D. along with all branches of the armed services."

"_Does this include the Mark II?_"

"No. Leave Rhodey out of it." Tony logged onto his computer at the desk, seating himself. "And one last thing."

"_Yes, Mr. Stark?_"

"See if you can't schedule an appointment with my attorney. Today works best for me, whenever he's free."

"_Certainly. I will inform you when I have successfully contacted Mr. Sullivan._"

0

The conference room was entirely too large for this sort of meeting. It hadn't been designed for that. The long table only had four coffee cups on it, a few pens, no papers, though this wasn't a briefing. A majority of the chairs were empty, pushed in neatly, though Natasha had made a point of finding Banner's chair and turning it around backwards.

Agent Hill kept glancing over at the chair, partially masked by the fact that she only did when she sipped her coffee, which she kept on her left side for that purpose, it seemed. Natasha noticed it, and held her gaze for a moment to make it clear that she did. Hill just cleared her throat and went back to staring ahead.

As expected, Coulson seemed entirely unphased. Natasha knew he saw it—one couldn't rise far in S.H.I.E.L.D. without impeccable observation skills—but was ignoring it on purpose. It was the white elephant in the room, and Natasha had absolutely no intention of letting it go unseen.

Director Fury was an entirely different matter. He was openly glaring at her, also seeming to ignore the chair, though she was certain the glare was mostly because of it.

None of this would have been a problem, would have phased her, if she knew she wasn't quickly losing their attention—and more importantly, their respect—with every second she waited to pounce. It was now or never.

"We have a problem."

"Get on with it, Agent Romanoff. S.H.I.E.L.D. has a lot of problems, and standing here isn't making any of them go away."

She gave a little nod, part in appreciation, part in acknowledgement. "I have reason to believe there will not be an Avengers Initiative if you try to call on them again."

Coulson's eye twitched, lips growing just a little bit thinner. Hill just took another sip of her coffee, though it did nothing to hide the downward arc of her lips. Fury was the only one who looked exactly the same, nothing of his inner workings showing. She wished she could get a read on him, anything, but he wasn't even giving a scrap.

"It can barely even be called a team anymore—"

"That's because there isn't a reason for them to be a team right now." Coulson countered her, his own calm resolve just one shade away from totally in control. He put on a good game face, but Natasha could read straight through it. That was part of her job. "If there was a push, they would come back together."

"I don't agree. If there was a push, one of more of them are likely to snap. As you already know, Dr. Banner has left. The last I saw him, Mr. Stark looked on the verge of another mental breakdown. Captain Rogers is—"

"He is concerned about his team, as any good leader would be." Coulson clenched his hands together, otherwise remaining completely still.

Sometimes she wished her coworkers were normal people, so every argument wasn't a battle between steel resolves. That would make it uninteresting, though. She'd have to deal with it.

"I think he has reason for concern. So far, I have remained neutral in all conversations regarding the team. My first loyalty is to S.H.I.E.L.D. as an agent." Natasha nodded towards Fury, and he nodded back. "Some things are impossible to ignore, though."

"Do you think they can hold out for another month?" Fury crossed his arms, his eye trained on her. Hill and Coulson both turned to glance at him, disapproving but not having the balls to say anything. Even if they did, Fury would quickly put them back in their respective places, so it was breath better saved.

"Perhaps. We should take some preventative measures, in the meanwhile."

"Sir, if I may, the forces you pulled together for the initiative are all volatile on their own, and together, have proven more than explosive. It might be better if we allow them to drift apart."

"The option has always been there, Agent Hill, but thank you for your suggestion." Fury didn't even glance at her, still holding Natasha's gave. "Agent Romanoff, you know Stark's closest associates. Start making some calls. If anything, wrangling him should settle the others down a little."

"Yes, Director." Natasha stood, spinning on her heel. This could have gone better, but it was something, at the very least.

0

He slid his fingers along the bow string, feeling it quiver with tension, threatened to be released. Flexing his hand, he adjusted his grip, pulling back in one sharp motion. His arm shook, like the string just a moment before, even as the string stabilized, seeming to relax, even though it was pulled absolutely taut.

The target down the range came into focus. Clint pursed his lips, not releasing the arrow yet, though he easily could. That would be too simple. That wasn't the point.

Taking a deep breath, he focused his thoughts. Down the range, at a distance, it was less difficult to see. The disconnect, the detachment, made everything more clear.

It wasn't clear enough.

Clint let the arrow fly. Bull's-eye. He frowned, pressing the button. The target wheeled back, further into the clearing. He drew again, sighting down the arrow.

The sputter of guns was muted through his protective gear, and if he wanted to ignore it, he could. Concentrating was rarely a problem for him. This was part of concentrating, though. He hadn't seen this many agents down in the firing range before. That included when they were preparing for the eventuality of hunting down potential threats (turned allies), before the invasion.

The training grounds had been busier in general. It was like they were preparing for something.

Letting out another breath, he let loose the second arrow. It split the first. He drew again, pushing the target even further back.

Some things were more visible at a distance, like the flash of a jet streaking overhead.

0

"There you are." Tony smiled at the phone, holding it out in front of him. From that angle, Pepper would only be able to see his face, not the just refilled glass in his hand, or the bracelet latched to the wrist. "I was starting to wonder if you'd even answer."

Pepper just stared at him from the other line, a silent question passing between them.

"It's nothing bad, I promise."

"Your private jet just landed in the airport. Where are you going?"

Tony gasped, pressing his hand to his chest. Pep's gaze flicked down, seeing the glass, the bracelet, all of it most likely. He quickly took a sip, since there was no more harm that could be done, forcing that certain smile again. "Nowhere. I'm not going. My stuff is."

Pep's eyes narrowed. That didn't come out right, did it?

"Well, for now. I want to move my suits out, along with my projects." He stopped walking, turning to watch the robotic arm at work. He'd programmed it, so he trusted it, but sometimes, direct supervision still felt necessary, even if it wasn't Dum-E or Butterfingers.

"Where?"

He would have been offended at her curtness, but really, somewhere down the line he'd probably earned it. He wasn't feeling like dwelling on that right now. "Malibu. Need the space."

"Maybe a vacation is in order."

"Do I really look that horrible?" Tony frowned at the phone, and she frowned in response, returning what he gave. At least they were on good enough terms for that. Now, at least. "No vacation, Pep, don't have the time. I've gotten backed up on a few projects, and all this S.H.I.E.L.D. presence really isn't helping. I need some distance."

"In that case, I'll start making the arrangements to make sure everything gets back to Malibu safely." Pepper took a deep breath, trying to smile with it. It was forced, as always, but the effort always counted for quite a bit. "I'll be by later to check everything over."

"Great. Got to go." Tony clicked off the call, sliding the phone in his pocket as he walked into the elevator.

0

"Hold the door."

Clint stuck his foot out, sensors catching it. The elevator doors slid open again, Tasha stepping inside. Her hair was pinned back, her clothing that of a civilian. He'd seen her profile as Natalie Rushman; this must have been what it looked like in person.

She seemed to notice him looking, and put on a soft smile, the type she probably tricked Stark with. "I had to testify today."

All the softness, or the perception of it, drained away. He swallowed roughly, fiddling with the strap on his quiver.

"They asked me about what happened on the quinjet when we captured Loki, about my interrogation of him in the helicarrier, about the attack you led." She pursed her lips, staring at the elevator wall.

"Standard stuff, right." Clint stared at the wall, too. It was the safer option.

She shrugged. "I tried explaining that your mind was being manipulated."

Tried was the key word. Clint closed his eyes. Tried wasn't succeeded. Far from it.

0

"Hey!" Tony smiled big, raising his hands up on either side of him. The man at the table barely even moved, then glanced up, after a long moment. That wasn't right. There should have been a loud greeting back. Jack should have gotten up, shook his hand, ended it in a fraternal sort of hug.

Instead, his attorney just sat there, a cup of coffee in front of him, quickly going cold.

Tony undid the button on his blazer and sat across from him, waving a hand to get the waiter's attention. Soon enough he had a fresh lemonade, and there was a panini on the way.

"Grumpy, what's the deal?" Tony leaned back, taking a sip of his drink. Jack only sighed, finally seeming to remember his drink, which he took a particular interest in. "Stop stalling. Give me a full run down. What pissed in your cheerios?"

"I can't do this." Jack set his cup down, leveling his gaze at Tony.

"That's a load of shit and you know it." Tony folded his hands over his stomach, playing with the end of his tie absentmindedly. "I've seen you fight tooth and nail for supposedly lost causes and sink a hole in one. I expect nothing less."

Jack finished his coffee, staring down at the bottom of the cup. After a moment, he pushed it aside, leaning forward. "My hands are tied."

Tony took the hint, leaning forward as well. "You told me they had no legal grounds to stand on."

"They don't." Jack glanced over his shoulder, out the window. There was no one there. Tony recognized that brand of paranoia. "But my _hands are tied_."

Tony leaned back slowly. This man he'd trusted on more than one occasion, normally charismatic with the caring level of a honey badger (and the aggression) had his tail between his legs like a beaten and scared animal, and not the type that might attack if backed into a corner.

That wasn't just the look of defeat. It was something much worse.

It was the look of a guy about to attend his best friend's funeral.

0

Bruce lowered himself slowly, putting his full weight down before dangling his feet over the edge. The salt breeze was warm, refreshing, just crisp enough to keep him fully awake while at the same time relaxing him.

The last time he was on a cliff, he hadn't noticed anything other than the rocks at the bottom and the potential in those jagged, hard edges. He'd stared down at them wistfully, calculating the possibilities, the potential risks.

This time was different, for the first time since the accident.

Rather than staring at the rocks and wondering if the other guy would wait until he hit them to make an appearance, he watched the sky, the clouds as they lit up with the last rays of the sun. He caught himself smiling. He also caught himself looking for trails between the clouds, for flashes of red and gold.

Bruce took off his glasses, polishing the lenses slowly, not taking his eyes off the sky. He'd been all over the world, but never really paused to notice it before.

Now he had the chance, but at what cost?


	50. Part V Chapter X: Stark Lines

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** mental breakdown, skewed justice, manipulation, mind-games, espionage, dark themes, social unrest, unhappy stuff, the list keeps going. If you've made it this far, you should know what to expect.

**Author's Note: **I ended up having to split up Chapter 9 into two. Which means Part 5 is going to be longer than 10 chapters. So sorry about the inconvenience.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART V: PERSONAL JUSTICE**

**CHAPTER X: STARK LINES**

It had been a long while since he had walked the length of the Bifrost, and even longer, perhaps, since he had truly wanted to. The latter had not changed in the least. This was out of a need. He needed to know if Heimdall still felt the blazing hatred of Midgard, if those flames had cooled. He needed to know the fate of his brother, as well.

Thor lifted his head, walking those last few strides with an airy, regal grace. If he did not put on this mantle, he knew he would crumple beneath the weight of the gleaming stars, of the void beyond, which had truly taken Loki from him and from Asgard.

Heimdall stood at the entrance to the Bifrost, strong and silent as always. Thor tried to find it in his heart to offer a warm smile, but could not muster such strength. There were already too many other forces pulling him askew.

The guardian nodded, the only movement he offered. Thor nodded in return, gaze drifting beyond his golden armored shoulder, to the Bifrost chamber in all its glory.

Loki had built that, perhaps not with his own two hands, but with his mind, which had always been the higher prize to his brother. It was the pinnacle of his achievement.

Thor frowned. It was that achievement which had facilitated his Midgardian trial.

"There is much on your mind."

"Heimdall…" Thor paused, collecting his thoughts and his words so they might be in appropriate rhythm together. "What have you seen of late?"

There was a moment of silence, Heimdall's amber eyes moving, as though to see behind him. The guardian bowed his head, hands shifting in their grip of the mighty hilt of his sword. That was never something Thor wanted to see.

"The Allfather's decision is far more dangerous than he first assumed."

"Are you questioning—"

"No. My loyalty is first and forever to the Allfather." Heimdall paused, leveling his gaze upon Thor once more. No matter how intensely Thor returned his stare, he could not find anything behind it. "My first duty is to serve the Allfather. My second is to observe."

Thor could not help but stare at the stars and wonder what it was Heimdall had seen to influence him so. Heimdall merely shook his head, as though his thoughts had been laid bare for the guardian, splayed out like the glimmering nebula above the Bifrost. Perhaps they were. Heimdall saw far and wide, and though it pained him to think, perhaps further than the Allfather in his more recent years.

"What of my brother?"

Heimdall's expression did not change, though the air seemed to, becoming heavier, like a great weight was hung upon his mantle and cloak. Thor did not break gaze with the guardian, watching in hopes that maybe he could _see_ in the way Heimdall saw.

"We shall see."

Thor fought hard not to huff out a sigh. So be it. "Thank you, Heimdall. Your continued service brings great comfort."

The guardian did not respond, though the draw of his lips, nearly akin to a frown, was profound enough to tell Thor he was not believed. He had not the time to defend his honor. If he wanted any true answers, he would either have to approach the Allfather with his concerns or return to Midgard and face the fire toe to toe.

0

There was something absolutely frantic about the Tower, a different kind of buzz than usual, and it was making a lump sit in her stomach. Pepper clenched her clipboard to her chest just as she clenched her jaw, steeling herself for what she was about to see.

Ding, and there it was. The penthouse was in absolute shambles. If it had been turned into a particle collider like the garage of the mansion, she might have understood, but this came completely out of the blue.

Pepper took a step forward, toe of her heel clicking against a metal canister. She looked down, eyebrows knitting together, though her patented frown didn't burst loose yet. It was a fight, but she kept it contained.

The random items strewn across the floor was just the start of it, it seemed. She rounded the corner, leaning around the edge first for safety-sake. When nothing flew or shot at her, she finally came around.

Crates were everywhere. Some were sealed up, taped off, and ready to go. Others were in different states of fullness and literally, they were _everywhere_. Pepper just gave up on walking, deciding that calling out might be the better route.

"Tony?"

Halfway across the level, near the bar, a very disheveled head appeared from behind one of the larger metal crates. Hair stuck out at every angle, and there were circles under his eyes.

She'd thought he was over the drive himself half to death without taking care of himself phase, but apparently, she was wrong. She rolled her eyes, readjusting her grip on the clipboard. "Tony, what's going on?"

"Just rearranging." He ducked down again, arm buried deep in the crate in a matter of moments. She could hear the clear click of metal against metal, and digital sounds, too. Stepping closer, carefully, she could see that there was one of his suits inside.

"This doesn't look like rearranging. If there is something I need to be aware of, Tony, I swear—"

"It's not like that."

"Tony." She took a step closer, knuckles going white. She loosened her grip, smoothing out the top paper with a thin lipped smile. Taking a deep breath, Pepper straightened her shoulders and bridged the last of the gap between them. "You are avoiding the subject. I know what that means."

He straightened, dropping one knee on the ground to stabilize himself. He tapped a short rhythm against the arc reactor in his chest, like he always did when brushing off something incredibly important, then gave her a lopsided grin which should have soothed all her worries.

Should have, but didn't.

"How do you feel about going to Malibu?"

Pepper took another deep breath, trying with all her heart to keep that calm smile in place. "You know I can't do that."

"With Happy. I wouldn't separate you two. We should all go. Soon. Take my jet." Tony waved his hand dismissively. He was always good at downplaying things. "You really don't want to stay here."

Pepper's smile fell. She swallowed, readjusting her clipboard. He didn't really say anything, but everything at the same time. There was a line drawn in the sand, and while she didn't know what rested on the other side of it, she knew Tony had already crossed it, and nothing was going to bring him back over it.

She had more than a few phone calls to be making.


	51. Part V Chapter XI: Personal Justice

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel universe at all, kthnx.

**Warnings:** mental breakdown, skewed justice, manipulation, mind-games, espionage, dark themes, social unrest, unhappy stuff, the list keeps going. If you've made it this far, you should know what to expect.

**Author's Note: **Here. Finally. The last chapter of part 5.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART V: PERSONAL JUSTICE**

**CHAPTER XI: PERSONAL JUSTICE**

"Casualties of war." Tony clapped his hands together, leaning back with a frown. He raised his eyebrows, staring down the attorney.

This was a really familiar view. Too familiar, only it was someone else sitting in front of the firing line of old men who'd obviously made up their minds already. They were giving him disapproving looks, though none as fierce as the attorney.

"That does not answer my question, Mr. Stark. Did the defendant throw you, unarmored, from a window of Stark Tower, with the intent to kill?"

Tony leaned forward, the chair creaking under his shifted weight. He pulled the microphone a little closer, turning his gaze straight for Loki and only Loki as he spoke again. "You obviously didn't hear me."

There was the slightest murmur from the onlookers, or maybe it was just everyone shifting uncomfortably. Tony had seen the footage. Everyone had been completely spineless on the stand so far, just rolling over for the prosecution.

That wasn't how he worked.

"I was an enemy soldier," Tony fought back a cringe at that word, barely managing to grate it out, "in the way of a commanding general. He took the shot he had to take. I just happened to be ready."

"Is that a yes, then, Mr. Stark?"

Tony wasn't really listening. Loki was staring back across the table at him, shoulders just barely rolled forward, face more melancholy than cold. Tony shook his head, mouth moving without sound for a moment.

_Don't you dare give up_.

"Excuse me, Mr. Stark, but I have to ask you to speak up so the court can hear you."

He cleared his throat, rolling his eyes before answering. "Yes, he threw me out of the window. It was fun. You should try it sometime."

Someone chuckled in the back, and Tony flashed one of his bright smiles, defusing the ticking bomb he could feel in the air.

0

"I would really like to know what Mr. Stark thinks he is doing." Fury turned, displeased but not fully angry. Natasha had seen Fury angry a few times, and would be entirely content not to repeat the process again.

"I was under the impression that you understood the risks in calling him to the stand." She gave a small smile, red lips stretching into that line. There was no pleasure in it, only knowing.

Fury must have realized that, because he rolled his eye and turned back towards the screen, hands still firmly planted on his hips.

"Is there anything you currently require of me?" She tilted her head, holding her clipboard close to her chest. In a feminine suit, hair pulled up neatly, it was easy to slip into the offices like she belonged. Now that her report was delivered, she would like to move on to other matters.

"From what I understand, Dr. Banner is no longer with us?"

That was an interesting turn of phrase. She readjusted her grip, that little smile falling. "In what manner?"

"You know what I mean, Agent Romanoff."

"Actually, I don't believe I do." Natasha shifted her weight. She should have changed before coming in, not that she didn't still feel prepared. She was always prepared. "He is still considered a consultant for S.H.I.E.L.D. and a member of the Avengers Initiative."

Fury gave a short nod. That seemed to answer his question, because he did not press the issue any further. "You are dismissed."

Natasha glanced at her watch. Good. She would still be on time.

0

"Did Natalie get you the contract?" Pepper positioned the phone between her ear and shoulder, then lifted the box, swiping dust off of it. It had really been a while since she'd used her apartment in Malibu, but everything was still where she put it.

"_I am signing it right as we speak_." Tony paused on the other side of the line, and she assumed—hoped—that meant he was actually reading over some of it. "_And it's Natasha. Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. She's a spy._"

Pepper ignored that last part. He still sounded hurt over the whole double agent thing. That was a difficult time for all of them, so extreme measures had to be taken, and really, it helped save Tony's life in more than one way, so he shouldn't be complaining.

Of course, he would still whine a bit. That she was completely used to.

"It is a great opportunity for expanding our clean energy initiative."

"_My clean energy initiative._"

"At least give me credit for 12%."

There was a huff of air blown against the speaker. Maybe it was a laugh. It probably was a laugh, quickly stifled. As long as it wasn't something else, she was fine.

"_Isn't this interesting?_"

Pepper paused, straightening. She'd gone over the contract three times in the last two days, and not once did she recall seeing something Tony would actually find interesting. "What is it?"

"_Looks like Fury wants to see me. Your little spy slipped a note in here_."

"You aren't in trouble or dying again, are you?"

"_Not that I'm currently aware of._"

"That doesn't sound very reassuring."

There was that huff again. Definitely a laugh, and not the funny kind. Pepper straightened, taking a firm hold on the phone again.

"Tony, I swear, if there is something you are not—"

"_Pep… you've got to trust me here._"

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in, holding it, then letting it out slowly. It had been a while since she had heard that tone. It was the same tone he had when she discovered what he was making. When she saw the burn marks and bullet holes and iron determination to make everything right again.

"I trust you."

0

They were right across the table from one another, but it still felt like they were half the world apart. Clint grabbed his ice tea, not looking away. From this close, some things were not as obvious as they would be. From this close, he couldn't see the big picture. He frowned as he took a sip, not breaking eye contact even though Tasha didn't seem to even see him.

"It's been a while."

She finally seemed to snap back to the present, brows smoothing, expression clean and crisp and completely grounded. He really envied her that sometimes, even if it frustrated him beyond belief at others. But that was Tasha, take it or leave it.

"We just saw each other this morning."

"Not that." Clint set down his cup, then planted his finger firmly on the table between them. "This."

She tilted her head, red lips pursed, but he could tell she was thinking about it. He didn't quite feel like letting it go, though, pressing on.

"This is normal. This is the most normal I've had for a while."

It clicked. He can see it click. The smile she gave was telling and warm and understanding in ways that she doesn't show to the others. He holds on to that.

"Yeah. It's nice."

The waiter walked up entirely too soon, but that was fine. Clint waved his menu at Tasha and she ordered first. He spent that fraction of time deciding his own order off a mental coin toss. The moment the waiter was gone, it was like everything was normal again. It was a breath of much needed air.

0

The air was perfectly still, hanging in limbo despite the multitude of Midgardians crammed into that hushed space. He could feel each and every one of them, the pulse of their hearts, an erratic drumbeat of excitement and fear muddled together past recognition.

Those emotions, raw and visceral, had become so blended he could hardly separate them within himself. As the council at the head of the room filed from the room, he could feel the thread of his life in their hands, tugging sharply, threatening to unravel him.

Loki closed his eyes to the warm tones of the polished wood and shined stone, taking in a firm breath through his nose. All he could smell was the press of Midgardians, their fear and excitement hitting him with a force he hardly thought them possible of. There was power here, an entirely different sort than he was accustomed to.

These mortals had the power to bring a god to his knees, to make him bend at the waist and place his neck, bared, upon the cold stone which would end him. He could feel it now, a whisper against his skin, like their "reaper" grasping his bony fingers about his throat.

The door banged shut and he flinched. How similar to an axe striking its mark did that door sound. How frightfully similar, enough he could feel the wisps of hair at the back of his neck stand on end.

The council was to deliberate now. They were to discuss what had been presented them. Loki wet his lips, concentrating on the moisture, the simulated warmth.

Stark had told him not to give up, and yet, there was not even that. He had not the option to give up, for there was nothing to give up. He knew, from their dark gazes, hooded like an executioner, what his fate was to be, and Odin treasured his little treaty with Midgard more than his life, otherwise he never would have assented to this in the first.

0

"_Are you flying out tonight?_"

"Yeah." Tony lowered the metal mask, only to be confronted with his own distorted reflection, in gunmetal and black. "Just got to take care of something first."

"_Should we meet you at the airport?_"

Tony set the mask down, checking his watch. Fifteen minutes were still on the timer. "Don't wait up for me."

"_Okay._" Pepper ended the call before he could. He still had work to do, and wasn't about to pause it.

There wasn't going to be another chance.

0

The glass sealed with a hiss and Steve let his hand fall. The group of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents behind him turned to leave, only two remaining, as was protocol, at the door. It let all of his will not to let his arm hang under the weight of the shield and to let his shoulders sag as well.

It was exhausting. All of this was exhausting. Learning to survive in a new century took it out of him. Having to worry about this alien war criminal who fancied himself a god was worrying, which also drained him.

Worst of all was seeing the state of the team. Everyone was walking on eggshells, and even worse than that was how none of them were normal eggshells. They were deadly, powerful eggshells.

That, at least, got the smallest of smiles out of him. He had finished his escorting duty without any incident. Loki had come with them without even a snide remark, which might have concerned him, if he wasn't actually thankful for that. He had a lot to be grateful for, so he'd keep his head high a little bit longer, at least until he was in private.

Steve glanced at the clock on the wall, frowning. The guard should be there. Something must have come up.

"Excuse me, Jarvis, are you there?"

"_Certainly, Captain Rogers. How might I assist you?_"

Steve paused, glancing between Loki and the guards, then back up at the clock, as though the digital numbers could somehow serve as a face. He was used to Jarvis at this point, used to that voice always being there when he called for it. What he wasn't used to was it being _everywhere_.

Though it didn't seem necessary, and felt like a complete and total invasion of privacy, right now he was glad it existed.

"Jarvis, I need to know who else is available for guard duty."

There was a moment of silence, in which Steve assumed Jarvis was using security cameras to look around the Tower, and then the answer came. "_It appears as though Agent Barton is not on the property at the moment, and that Agent Romanoff is attending to a prior engagement._"

Steve nodded, and waited, listening for that last name. Jarvis didn't continue, though. Steve frowned. "What about… Mr. Stark?"

"_Would you like me to connect you to his workshop?_"

Quite suddenly, Loki turned, his unnatural green eyes flicking between the clock and Steve with what had to be curiosity. Something turned in Steve's gut, but he ignored it, continuing on like he hadn't even noticed.

"Please, if you could."

It only took a moment, and soon he heard a saw of some sort going, or what he thought was a saw. There was metal involved, and Steve imagined sparks flying in every direction. That was very likely. He'd seen Stark at work on the helicarrier. There were usually sparks involved.

"_Cap, what do you need?_"

"Relief. Any way you could head down and take over?" He smiled, then stopped himself, realizing Stark probably couldn't see him. Then again, there were cameras in the room. It was likely he could see Steve. And Loki, for that matter, who was staring straight at one of the cameras.

Steve didn't like that look, but forced himself to focus on the situation at hand.

"_Give me five. Almost done up here._"

The grinding noise started right back up again, filling the room until Jarvis cut the call. Those five minutes passed surprisingly fast. When he heard the main door unlock, he had to check the clock just to make sure it hadn't been less time. It was five minutes exactly. He was impressed.

Tony strutted straight in the room, one of his media smiles plastered on his face. Steve knew the difference now, and though he didn't like that he was being treated like an outsider rather than a teammate, he'd let it slip for now. Tony was wearing a suit, briefcase in one hand, other in his pocket, so he'd probably been wearing that face all day.

Steve was about to leave, but stopped, glancing Tony over again. "Were you working in a suit?"

Tony didn't even miss a beat, setting the briefcase down softly on the table. Steve couldn't miss the metallic thud, even so. Tony didn't turn, fiddling with the handle for a moment before glancing over. "What, I can't look professional?"

"No. Yes. Ah, don't worry about it." Steve readjusted his shield, lingering for a moment longer. No one spoke, not Loki behind him, who was staring at the briefcase questioningly, or Tony, who was still toying with the handle. Steve shook his head. He just needed some actual rest. "Good night."

"Yeah. Night, Cap."

Steve probably should have walked out calmly, but he hurried, really hurried, hood shoved back before he even got to the elevator, tugging out of his gloves with his teeth before the door was closed.

0

The first thing he did was take off his gloves. He never wore gloves, but no one had noticed. Why would they? He was surprised Cap even questioned his suit. Speaking of, Tony took off his jacket next, setting it across the back of his chair like he intended on staying for a while.

If the guards were perceptive, they would have noticed that he was still wearing gloves, or at least what looked like gloves. It was actually a titanium and vibranium alloy which had been painstaking to make, especially with the energy reservoirs running through it like veins, the vibrations from it keeping the metal undersheath vacuum sealed to his skin.

Next was the tie. He hadn't wanted to wear a tie—only did it when he had to for appearance sake, really—but the collar of his shirt hung open too far otherwise, and the top lip of the undersheath was visible.

Right now, it really didn't matter. If they'd wanted to stop this, they should have moved a long time ago.

Tony unlocked the clasps on his briefcase, just cracking it open. If he opened it, everyone in the room would look, and then there went the element of surprise. That'd be a shame. He could deal with it, had in the past, but right now, it'd be really nice to get a running head start.

Clapping his hands together, he spun, facing the cage. He walked straight up to it, not even flinching when he heard the guards tense.

"Guilty as charged, huh?"

He wasn't addressing anyone in particular. Could be about Loki. It was in a way. Could be about him. It was that, too. The guards didn't figure that one out until his finger was on the control panel, disengaging all the locks.

0

Natasha let her hair down, shaking it out with her fingers. It only took a moment, and in that time, the video stream had activated. She immediately put on a practiced smile; for some reason, it was a lot easier than before. It was no doubt the day.

On the screen, Banner smiled back. He looked good. The circles under his eyes were not quite as dark, nor were there as many worry lines. That nervous twitch of his fingers wasn't apparent, though she was watching for it, not because she was afraid of him, of what those hands could do. She was honestly afraid _for_ him.

"How is it?"

Banner stopped from taking a sip of his drink, glancing down into the mug and up at her with a question in the slant of his brows. He took a sip anyway, then set it down with a small smile. That was when the twitch of his fingers set in. He ran one slowly around the lip of the mug, giving it the same wistful look he gave the cradle in India.

"_I'm managing._"

"That's good. I'm glad to hear it." Natasha tucked a hair behind her ear, not taking her eyes off Banner for a moment.

"_How's…_" Banner cleared his throat, taking another long gulp of his tea and sighing. "_How's Tony?_"

0

Both guns snapped to attention, their tips pointed at Stark's back. Loki tensed. He raised his hands slowly, suit pulling uncomfortably tight about his shoulders. His shackles were in clear view, even if they had little use other than limit his range of motion, and he was counting on that, even as he counted the moments slip past without a breath daring to enter his lungs.

"Now might be a good time to get back." Stark spoke like there was absolutely nothing wrong, and that only made him tenser. Stark flashed another one of those smiles, and now, with it right before him, though through the thick glass, Loki could see just how broken it was.

Loki took a step back, slowly, and then another, until his back was nearly pressed to the far glass barrier. The guns did not move for him, the guards having eyes for Stark and Stark alone.

There would only be a few fleeting moments, if there were any at all. A few fleeting moments where the door might be open.

Freedom was so close he could practically taste it.

Stark lifted his hand again, and pressed the release button at the same moment as they fired.

0

"The council just called it a night." Coulson folded his hands in front of him, watching the place over Fury's shoulder, where he could see the repaired Manhattan skyline. It was a good view, calm, so long as one didn't look down at the streets. "They believe they need at least another day for the deliberations process."

Fury did not move, a black silhouette against the window. He didn't have to. Coulson could read his every gesture at this point, or rather, his lack of them. Currently, Fury was frustrated, but knew he had to be patient. That made two of them.

"Should we begin preparing the facilities?"

That did cause Fury to move, the Director turning his head to the left a little. That eye didn't see anymore, but the idea was behind it. It was more a show that Fury had been through enough that he should be trusted with this sort of situation, which Coulson wasn't questioning in the least.

"Not yet. We have to observe due process here."

"Of course." Coulson gave a quick smile, rocking up on the balls of his feet. "Shall I go check on our due process deserving war criminal alien locked in the basement, then?"

Fury chuckled. "Don't give him a heart attack."

"I'll wait, then. You did promise to assign me escort duty for his execution."

"That promise still stands."

"Good."

0

He slammed into the glass, sagging heavily against it with a gritting out cough. His shoulders shook, knees buckling, but he managed to hold on, just enough not to hit the floor. Tony banged his head on the glass door, listening.

The guards didn't move to reload. Tony knew how many bullets were in those clips. He'd designed too many guns not to. Tony waited a moment more, teeth grinding together, legs shaking from the strain.

Great. They weren't going to reload.

Tony pushed himself up along the glass, leaning his forehead against it as he worked the buttons on his shirt. The moment the last one was undone, he shrugged the shredded fabric off, stretching.

The undersheath moved with him, pushing the collapsed bullets off the metal and too the ground. Tony pulled the hood up over his head, sealing it with a wiggle of his head.

It was show time.

0

"I don't really see him often." Natasha shrugged. It was true. She rarely saw him. There were times where she would notice him in the communal kitchen, but it was only for a moment and then he was gone again. His security systems made it impossible for her to know what he did for the rest of the time, but the Tower had yet to blow up, so it wasn't bad.

Banner didn't seem satisfied with the answer. He kept staring down into his mug like the whole universe was hidden in there. It made Natasha wonder what it was he was drinking. From what she remembered, he wasn't that much of a coffee person. She assumed tea.

"_Is he…_"

"Not that I've noticed." Again, she shrugged. His question could have been one of two things. Either it was a question about Stark's drinking or it was a question about his promiscuity. Her answer remained the same for both.

Whatever the question was, that seemed to be the right answer. Banner nodded, rolling the mug between his hands slowly, back and forth.

"_I shouldn't have gone_."

"Look, everyone's under a lot of stress right now. I'm sure he understands." Natasha really meant that. "Just give it a little time, and he'll probably be begging you back."

Banner actually laughed at that, running a hand through his curly hair. That really brightened him up a lot. Natasha would keep going with that train of thought, keep things positive. Something had to go right in the world, after all.

0

Magic and science. A laugh tumbled from his lips before he could help it as he marveled at what Midgardian science was truly capable of.

The pieces of armor from the briefcase moved of their own accord, lifting as though some invisible hand had plucked them from their casing. Loki could feel no such hand, but it must have been there, somehow, a puppeteer beyond his own perception.

It was blindingly fast, the pieces flying through the air, clicking into place about Stark's body. That body was covered by something, he knew not what; he only knew that when he searched, felt with his mind, he was met with a sort of resistance, as though the material, a dark and polished grey, was pushing back.

Before it was even finished assembling, Stark spun, arm up and straight. A low whine filled the room, followed by a blast of blue light. The first guard fell, the other scrambling with his weapon as Stark turned, other arm firing as its pieces slid firmly into place.

Loki stared. The faceplate flipped over Stark's cold features, hiding them behind dark metal and cold blue eyes.

Stark reached up again, reentering the code and pressing the release button. This time, the doors hissed as the pressure leaked out, the glass sliding away.

"I read in your file that you could stop people from seeing you if you didn't want them to." Stark's voice was distorted by his machine, but still distinctly his. Loki merely nodded, not entirely sure where this was going. "Then do it. We've got a lot of security to get past."

0

The water was cold, had been for a while, but he just couldn't move. He turned his head, forehead squeaking against the tiles. There was the faucet. It wasn't even that far of a stretch. He could just switch the water off, then towel off and wind down. That's what the shower had been for, after all, and he'd just ended up thinking.

For one, Steve hadn't seen Bruce around for a while. He and Tony had been inseparable for a good long while, and then one day, he just wasn't there. On another note, Coulson of all people had actually torn into him like a drill sergeant.

He was glad, more than glad, even, that the trial was drawing to a close. No matter what was decided, it would be a decision, which meant everything would be out of their hands. Either Loki would be sent back to Asgard or he would be imprisoned with other war criminals, outside their jurisdiction, or maybe executed.

That left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Steve sighed, finally reaching up. He reset the timer on the wall and turned the heat back up rather than turning it off. Five more minutes.

0

What the files said: absolutely true. Wow. Tony kept scanning the private elevator, every corner of it, and his HUD picked up nothing. It was like he was alone, except now and then Loki would speak, and it was more than a little unsettling.

"Not all of us can fly."

Tony turned, raising an eyebrow in the direction he assumed Loki was. Oh, wait, Loki couldn't see through his helmet. The gesture was lost, but that didn't mean he dropped it. "I've got a plan. Cool it."

Silence greeted him, so he assumed Loki was taking his advice. Tony couldn't really tell, the same way Loki couldn't see through his suit, so they were even.

The elevator dinged, giving Tony a moment. He readjusted, assuming a firm stance with hands raised. The doors slid open.

Nothing. Not a single person. Tony scanned the whole room, coming up absolutely dry. Tony lowered his arms, giving a small wave before starting forward.

Everything was set up at the main terminal. He went straight to it, armor retracting from his fingers easily, sliding back up over his wrist. That just left the undersheath over each finger. Thankfully, he didn't have much left to do.

"Ready to initialize?"

Tony glanced at all the figures, giving them one last run-over while he awaited the response. Everything was green lighted.

"_Shall I count down?_"

"No, just hit the switch and hop onboard, JARVIS."

There was a moment's hesitation—could an AI really hesitate?—before JARVIS finally responded.

"_Certainly_."

0

Their hour was almost up. Bruce had only purchased an hour. That was the amount of time they agreed upon, even if they usually wrapped it up early. He never used the extra time. It was tempting to check the email Tony insisted he set up, but that would probably launch about fifty red flags.

He wasn't ready for that, even if they talked lightly about it, like it could happen tomorrow.

Bruce glanced back at his mug, or rather, at the bottom of it. There was just a sludge of spices and unmelted sugar down there, none of his coffee left behind. He'd tried draining that last bit out three times now, and wasn't about to do it again. He was sure Natasha noticed things like that, and he'd rather not be read like an open book.

"Do you think things will be better after the trial?"

Natasha was halfway into a shrug when the screen went black.

Bruce frowned, turning to look at the clock. They still had another ten minutes. Bruce checked. The internet was still on. He tried reconnecting to the call. Nothing. He sat there for another five minutes before trying again. There was still nothing. He typed in the url to his email account.

Nothing.

0

The lights cut out in time with the timer. Steve straightened, pressing the smooth plastic panel of the controls. The numbers were all dark. Nothing happened. Steve grabbed the handle to the shower door. Locked. Still.

"Jarvis, unlock the door for me."

Nothing punctuated the near silence. It was just him and the water running.

0

Even during the invasion, the bright white lights of the Stark Tower had not even flickered, and here he was, once again standing on that high balcony, watching as everything was consumed by darkness.

A smile spread on his lips as the very last of them was snuffed out.


	52. Part VI Chapter I: Blackout

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Marvel Comics or any of their characters, nor do I make any profits from the online publication of these works.

**Warning:** dark themes, psychological trauma, allusions to PTSD, psychological warfare, homosexuality (why, exactly, is this a warning? Oh yeah, not everyone's okay with this. Whatever), language, alcohol use, alcoholism, major character death, explicit content, the warnings just keep going. Don't say I didn't warn you?

**Author's Note:** Welcome to Part 6 of Bitter Sirens. The pace is about to make a major shift. Okay, everything's about to make a major shift. I'm sorry the last part's pacing was all over the place. I'm glad to finally be done with it, though. As for this one… it's a reaction chapter, for the most part. Necessary for the story, at least. Thank you guys for being so damn patient with me.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART VI: NECESSARY EVIL**

**CHAPTER I: BLACKOUT**

It was impossible not to notice when the Stark Tower went dark. It started at the base, one row of bright white lights clicking off after another. Clint could see it on the wall next to him, reflected in the stone face of the café. Soon enough, Manhattan was a lot darker than it had been in a while.

Clint raised his hand, signaling over the waiter. Even at night, there were lights on in the Tower. Clint turned in his chair, looking up at the monolith. Nothing. Not even the sign was lit. He frowned, shifting his weight to pull out his wallet. It figured that the first night he really took off to relax, something happened.

A light caught his eye when the waiter came with his bill. Clint turned, squinting up at the landing on the tower. That was the Iron Man armor, no mistaking it. From there it didn't look red and gold, but it could be the sudden lack of light. What he could see, though, were the thrusters on the suit, a bright streak as he took off from the Tower.

Stark must have been making repairs to the arc reactor powering everything, or updating it. He was always upgrading everything.

Clint went back to his bill, taking his time now. There was nothing to worry about.

0

The gun shook, only for a moment as she steadied her fingers, turning white from the pressure, and her breaths, which had been in quick gasps. She couldn't see her gun, couldn't even see her arms in the sudden darkness. There were no windows, nowhere for even a shred of light to come from, and that was worse than the darkness itself.

Arc reactors did not just stop working.

Natasha reached her fingers forward, flicking the switch for her laser sight. The thin beam of red didn't do much, but it was something. She could see her gun, the edges highlighted with the crimson glow, and the air between her and where the dot hit. With that, she turned the end of it, opening up the iris at the tip. The dot vanished, but the red glow acted like a flashlight, a dim and barely useful flashlight, but that was better than the last option.

"Jarvis, are you there?"

Silence greeted her. In a normal power outage, everything would switch to reserve energy. She knew Stark had upgraded the arc reactor powering the tower, had the old prototype as a backup. She waited, holding her breath.

The reserves did not switch on. Nothing switched on. Natasha pressed the communicator on her wrist, lifting it to her mouth. "This is Agent Romanoff. Can anyone read me?" She let go of the button, pointing her gun outward again. There wasn't even static in response.

This was something a lot more serious than a power outage.

0

The S.H.I.E.L.D. floor was an angry hive, kicked a few too many times. Agents in nice suits wearing headsets were all tightening the straps of Kevlar vests and checking clips of ammunition, going through a full 180 metamorphosis in a matter of minutes. If there was an immediate threat, that would have been too long of a delay.

Coulson lifted his radio, pressing the button with a firm click. "Radio check, one, two, three."

"Check confirmed, unit 52." "Check confirmed, unit 34." "Check confirmed, unit 89." Coulson checked off the numbers as they were called out, holding his flashlight steady in the same hand as his radio.

It was old fashioned, but right now, that's all they could rely on. SI's servers were down. The power was down. They needed to secure the perimeter and assess the situation as quickly as possible. That involved communication. Organization. Calmness.

Now that they were communicating, they could move on to the organization phase. Coulson ran his thin beam of light down the list, checking for any openings on it. There were a few.

"How's the check going?"

"We're still not hearing from multiple agents." Coulson knew what the next step was. He pressed the button again, standing perfectly still as he spoke. "Unit 25, can you hear me?" He took his finger off the button and waited. Nothing. He circled the unit number and moved to the next. "Unit 3, respond." Nothing. Circled. "Unit 7, respond."

"Agent Romanoff reporting. Unit 7 can hear you loud and clear."

"What's your current position?" Coulson checked it off, tapping his pencil on the desk as he waited.

"I've secured my floor and am now searching for supplies to force the lock on the stairwell."

"Stay put for now." Coulson skimmed the list again, finding his place. "Unit 12, can you read me?" Nothing from that one, either. He frowned, tracing the number over to the name. Captain Rogers. Coulson frowned deeper, forcing down the urge to go hunt for him immediately. He had to get everyone organized first, then they could handle search and rescue. There was just a few more. "Unit 146, copy. Unit 13, respond. Unit 93, are you there?"

Agent Barton, unit 3, still hadn't responded. Nor had Mr. Stark, unit 13. Phil tapped his pencil again, looking at the other numbers.

Unit 146 and unit 93 were scheduled to guard duty in Containment.

"Director, we have an issue."

Fury turned, still fitting an earpiece for his radio into place. He had a group of agents spreading out maps across every clear table they could pull to the center of the floor, a make-shift command center. "What's the problem?"

"The agents positioned in Containment are not responding."

"Radio them again." Fury started shining his light on agents, waving them aside quickly. Soon there were small groups, three minimum, though there were a few of four. The moment Coulson shook his head to signal continued radio darkness, Fury waved one of the groups of four over to him, giving a final nod.

It was time to actually meet Loki face to face again.

0

"What's the situation?" Natasha set the radio on the dresser, sharply zipping the front of her suit. In a matter of seconds, her gauntlets were clicking on, buzzing with blue energy. She took her flashlight, gun, and radio back up, waiting for the response.

It was Fury responding this time. "We are sending teams to secure each level of the tower currently. Coulson is leading the team for Containment."

Natasha pressed the button immediately, almost cutting him off. "Is that a good idea?"

"We need an immediate response before matters have a chance to get out of hand."

"With all due respect, it looks like they already have." Natasha checked her clip, sliding it back to place. That done, she seated her headset and microphone, giving it a few taps.

"Report to the main floor. I'll assign you to a team."

"Where's Agent Barton?" Natasha opened the drawer in front of her, pulling out four more empty clips and loading them with a practiced precision. She had to keep moving. Even a moment's pause might be a moment too much.

"Not answering. Neither is Captain America or Iron Man."

"I doubt Stark would use a radio." Natasha tapped all the clips into their cases, clicking them shut. Everything secure, she started back for the stairwell entrance. It was for emergency purposes only, but the locks were electronic. Either that, or they'd been set to lock electronically before the outage occurred, which raised even more issues.

"Agent Romanoff."

"I'm heading up. Agent Barton may still be off campus. That leaves the Captain and Stark. I'll start with the former. Keep me updated."

She was sure there was a sigh, but it was cut out, the beep only sounding once Fury was talking again. "A team with meet with you on Captain America's floor. Do not proceed without them." Natasha rolled her eyes, but agreed.

0

When the dust cleared from the blast, he could see they were too late. Coulson stepped in first, gun and flashlight raised. It cut a thin white beam through the blackness, barely enough to see with, but all they had underground right now.

There were two downed guards. His team went to them first, checking for pulses. They were just unconscious, thankfully. Coulson kept moving forward, straight for the open doors of the glass cage, which was empty. There was no sign of Loki whatsoever. Coulson closed his eyes, letting out a slow, shaky breath.

"HQ, we've got bad news." Coulson held on to the button on the radio, trying to collect his report, not wanting a response quite yet to scatter his thoughts. "The captive is loose. Repeat, the captive is loose."

0

Every S.H.I.E.L.D. operative must have been holding their breath for that news. Natasha was. The other agents with her were. The Tower went silent, and when the news hit, it felt like something broke.

"I'll suit up."

Natasha nodded, but not even that was needed. Rogers was already out of the room, and she could hear him preparing for battle.

This had been planned. It had to have been planned. Catching Rogers in a place which had the capability of locking down, seeing to it that Banner was gone, Barton was not in the Tower, SI communications knocked out. Natasha added it all up in her head, but still couldn't place who it could be, unless it was Loki himself.

That was a possibility they could not rule out.

Finally, she clicked the button on her radio. "We need to send a team up to the penthouse now. If no Starktech is working, that means Stark himself is defenseless."

"Go. We're sending reinforcements."

"If Loki's intention was escape, he already would have gone."

"A team of six is coming up from Agent Barton's level. I've also ordered Coulson's team to come as well, though it will take a while."

"Fine. We're going."

0

After being trapped in the darkness of his own shower for what felt like ages, a deep seated fear threatening to take over again, the penthouse level of Stark Tower looked bright, almost light even.

Maybe bright was the wrong word for it, given what they were faced with.

The suits were all gone. Steve had only been on that floor once, when they rounded up Loki the first time, and there had been suits lining one wall, the wall which connected to the fully stocked bar. The bar looked a lot emptier as well, but he wasn't entirely sure.

Steve paused by a small table next to the couch, lifting up a little framed photograph. In the dim light, he could only make out the basics: it was Bruce and Tony, somewhere with water in the background, smiling. Tony had an arm around Bruce's shoulders. It looked like Bruce was fiddling with something on his wrist. Steve squinted, then put the photo down slowly.

"No sign of Stark or any of his equipment. Looks like it was all shipped out." Natasha stood in the center of the room, mostly a silhouette but no less commanding. He straightened his posture a little, readjusting his grip on the shield. "It doesn't look like a hostage situation."

Steve's stomach flipped at that thought. Just two hours ago, he'd been standing guard over Loki. He looked defeated, resigned, more likely just to fade away in the background than fight. In fact, nothing about him seemed like an animal backed into a corner. Steve knew that look. He knew how dangerous it could be.

"I don't think Loki was planning on breaking out."

Everyone turned, staring straight at him. Natasha's eyebrows furrowed, streaks of red in the half-light, and then her eyes widened.

The stairwell door banged open, Coulson and his team coming in. Coulson walked straight for them, waving for the others to go away. "I thought you should be the first to know." He looked between them, taking a deep breath. His hands on his hips might have seen nonchalant, if it wasn't Coulson. "The guards from Containment woke up."

Steven turned, frowning. "What did they say?"

"Stark pulled the pin."


	53. Part VI Chapter II: Crippling

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Marvel Comics or any of their characters, nor do I make any profits from the online publication of these works.

**Warning:** dark themes, psychological trauma, allusions to PTSD, psychological warfare, homosexuality (why, exactly, is this a warning? Oh yeah, not everyone's okay with this. Whatever), language, alcohol use, alcoholism, major character death, explicit content, the warnings just keep going. Don't say I didn't warn you?

**Author's Note:** I am so sorry about how long this took to get to you guys. The end of 2012 was supper busy for me, but it looks like I've got a little bit for free time again, so here's the next chapter! Hopefully it was worth the wait.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART VI: NECESSARY EVIL**

**CHAPTER II: CRIPPLING**

There was a shadow. Now, whenever there was the presence of light, there would always be shadows. That was a proven point of science. This wasn't that kind of shadow, though. Shadows like that didn't watch you.

Maybe he was just being paranoid. He'd been doing a lot of that lately.

Tony leaned back, kicking his feet up on second thought. His personal jet. His rules. Simple as that. Tony flicked off his shoes while he was at it, letting them flop wherever they felt like. Slowly, he flicked between screens on his tablet.

For the first hour, everything should be complete radio darkness. Anyone seeking responses wouldn't even get error messages. It was like the servers were fried. Well, like was… a weak word for that.

They were fried. All important data on the Stark Industries servers was fine. He'd made backups. No groundbreaking research was going to be lost. Tony snorted at that thought, continuing to flip.

It didn't look like anyone had figured out what was going on yet, nor had they rerouted the power, keeping everything nice and dark at the Tower. A few of the buildings around the Tower had security cameras, and he was watching them carefully. Now and then, he'd see a faint light, probably a flashlight, not enough to really pay attention to.

"Warm towel?"

Tony glanced up, eyeing the towel and the tongs holding it out. He shook his head, quickly waving the stewardess off. She didn't seem to notice anything was wrong. Then again, he had plugged JARVIS in the moment he was on the plane, because otherwise, all their systems would have been offline. It was a quick save. He was good at those.

Now, the backlash on his "quick saves" was looming. That always happened. The smoke would clear eventually. He couldn't just keep SI's systems down indefinitely. That'd be crippling him far more than it would be crippling S.H.I.E.L.D. Hell, keeping it down this long was walking the line.

Tony tapped his finger on the glass screen, expanding the view from one camera before flicking it aside. Still no lights. He glanced at his watch.

Three.

Two.

One.

The sign sputtered to life, one letter after the next, until STARK was lit up in bright blue again, the SI slash joining it. The lights started at the top floor, working their way down.

The smoke was clearing. He had to get on damage control pronto.

0

They all threw their arms up at once. There was no point denying it; Coulson was right there with them, shielding his eyes from the sudden bright light. The last time he had been in the penthouse, he didn't remember it being that bright. There must have been modifications. Either that, or they were always turned on low.

Slowly, everyone recovered. Well, they recovered from the light. The news was an entirely different matter. He was doing his best to keep a straight face, the type that won poker tournaments, as to not influence the situation negatively.

That was, of course, very difficult. From the look Agent Romanoff was shooting him, with one of those bright red brows arched in a silent question none of the others would likely get, she saw right through the mask. He didn't budge, though. She knew the line they needed to tread with S.H.I.E.L.D., knew the pace to which Fury required they waltz.

She wasn't the issue.

"You think this is Tony's fault?"

Coulson closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, swallowing his immediate, gut response. Following his gut had ended with an alien spear driven through him, right above his heart, nearly severing an artery and some very important vascular tissue. He had to keep it in check.

"This is not open for discussion."

"Is this because of his testimony?" Captain America pressed on, chiseled features set, authoritative, demanding. A year ago, he would have caved to anything the good Captain said. Things were different now. Even as Captain America kept glaring him down, Coulson couldn't give.

"No."

"There's gotta be more to it."

"We need to get back down to central command. From there, we can start organizing—"

"Organizing for what?"

"Steve." Agent Romanoff cut him off. She straightened herself, still holding her pistol and flashlight between her hands, entirely ready. "He's right. We can figure out what's going on when we get down there."

After a moment, what looked like a very hard fought one, Captain America finally stood down, giving a small nod in concession. Good. Coulson really didn't want to pull out his taser.

0

The shadow was still there. The more he ignored it, the more he seemed to notice it. Great. Just what he needed. Tony pursed his lips, glaring down at the tablet in his lap.

A lot could happen in the span of a few hours. Even more when S.H.I.E.L.D. was directly involved, which he'd seen firsthand more than once. He wouldn't deny their productivity. It was a bit too important to ignore. He had to keep tabs on everything.

He did have tabs _for_ everything, at least. Tony flicked through them, resyncing himself with all the security cameras manually, since JARVIS wasn't in there to jack him directly through. It was a distraction, which was what mattered.

Sadly, distractions didn't make the shadow go away, either. It was still there. Sometimes it was by the windows. Sometimes it was by the table. Others it was by the long, low couch, which he was currently sprawled out on, hunks of armor all around him. That last one gave him the chills and made him a lot more nervous than he'd ever admit out loud.

Still. Virus. Go.

Tony pressed the button, leaning back. He'd just hook his arms behind his head and watch it go. Kind of like fireworks, only more… _him_.

0

"Computers are all booting up. We've got lights, heat, and a way to get information. Get to it." Fury set his radio down, testing his ear piece again. It was still static. Damn. He should just take the thing off already. Systems likely wouldn't be at full speed for a few hours—then again, it was Stark Industries. Their half speed was faster than the rest of the world's full speed.

"Reporting in, Director." Coulson stopped not far from him, his merry little group of Avengers and Agents just behind him. They weren't smiling. "There is no sign of Mr. Stark."

Fury narrowed his eye, giving Coulson a quick one-over. On second thought, he turned his gaze over to Rogers, giving him a deeper look. Rogers wasn't trained to keep his cool. He was trying his damnedest, but Fury could still see through it.

"Looks like there is more to the story."

"We can't say anything conclusively yet." Coulson turned his head slightly to the side, enough that Fury could tell he was fighting hard not to glare at Rogers. They were on the same page. Good. That'd make things easier. "It appears as though a majority of Mr. Stark's equipment is missing."

"Missing?" Fury paused, hands on his hips. "That much equipment doesn't just go missing. Seven Iron Man suits don't just go missing."

Coulson finally looked down. Defeat. For him, at least. This was a victory, at least a partial one, for Fury. Maybe he'd get some straight answers now.

"If the computers are up and running, we can see if there are any records of his equipment being moved." Romanoff stepped forward, swiveling neatly on a heel for the nearest terminal. Coulson actually did shoot her a glance, but everyone ignored it, because this was the first lead they'd really have. Romanoff had a point. That much equipment would leave a paper trail.

Fury motioned towards the other computers, taking a station for himself. Even Rogers tried helping, though the man probably wouldn't get far. He could use a computer, and was actually settling in to the Twenty-First Century quite nicely, from all the reports which had crossed his desk, but this was a bit more advanced.

That, and Fury's log-in wasn't working. Romanoff was frowning something fierce, so hers must have been locked out as well. There went Coulson. Rogers was still bent over his station, but it'd only be a matter of moments.

"It looks as though we are locked out." Coulson tapped his fingers beside the keyboard and then tried again.

All the screens lit up right about then. The S.H.I.E.L.D. logo melted. Fury blinked, turning off the screen, turning it on again. The logo was still gone. Blue screened. All of the computers were blue screened.

"Anyone have access to anything?"

"No, Director. Everything's locking up."

"How's StarkTech running?"

"SI servers are all stable. It's just the S.H.I.E.L.D. ones." Romanoff kept typing, brows pulling in further and further as she kept at it. From where he was standing, it didn't look like she was getting too far, though it was leaps and bounds past the rest of them.

After a moment of silence, other than the keys, she finally straightened, letting out one of those long sighs that just sung of bad news.

"He's crippled us."

0

This wasn't like Tony. Okay, maybe it was, but it wasn't like Tony _now_. Tony now didn't randomly move all his stuff and grab a jet whenever it pleased him, right when all of SI's servers went haywire and the news stations were going crazy about the Tower in NYC going dark. Tony before the accident, maybe.

Thankfully, Happy picked up the phone, and they were on the way to the airport within half an hour.

Pepper kept checking her phone. No updates. No messages from him. He wasn't picking up, either. The systems were running again, and the preliminary reports she was getting back said everything was perfectly fine. There was a full back-up made just before the outage, so that saved it all.

There was nothing wrong. She just had to take a few breaths, a few deep breaths, and everything would be all right.

Right?

Happy finally pulled to a stop, and almost before he had it parked, her door was open and she was out. They were pulling the stairs up to the jet. Perfect timing. Pepper straightened her hair, smoothing her hand over it a few times before finally pulling it back. She probably should straighten her suit, too. She'd thrown it all on so fast. She tugged at her jacket a few times, and then just settled on it, posting herself like a smiling statue at the base of the stairs.

Maybe she should be frowning. Or meet him at the door. It was too late, because the door was already open and there was Tony, a briefcase in one hand, tablet in the other, a pristine business suit finishing it all off.

"Is everything okay?"

Tony glanced up, eyebrow immediately shooting up. Pepper took another deep breath, forced her smile back, and clasped her hands together hard. There. That would keep everything in check, she just had to take this one thing at a time.

"Um… yes? Why wouldn't it be?"

See, there was nothing to worry about at all. Pepper looked down at her heels, then back over her shoulder. Happy was waiting just outside the car, watching, probably listening, too. She had to keep calm. "What about the Tower?"

"Implementing some new features. It needed a hard reboot. Don't worry about it."

"Oh." Pepper didn't remember any software updates. And why would the power go out if it was just software? She opened her mouth to ask another question, but Tony was already waving her off.

"Long day. Can I catch a lift? I mean, you did take my driver." Tony smiled and waved awkwardly to Happy, who didn't budge. "Of course I can. Let's go." And off he went. Just as usual.

0

"Slow down. One at a time. What's the status?"

They were in the conference room, even though the screen behind Fury's chair was frozen, scrambled code flashing across it. Everyone was assembled, for the most part. Clint had come back, and was sitting next to her, getting the first glimpse of the mess they were in now. Rogers was across from him. Agent Hill was next to Fury, Coulson across from her.

The three empty seats, one for Stark, one for Bruce, and one for Thor, seemed bigger than ever, elephants in the room, and no one would look directly at them. She couldn't blame them. She didn't want to look at them either.

What could they have done differently?

Did it even matter now?

Probably not.

"It's a virus. An extremely sophisticated virus. Every time one of our technicians gets a lock on where the code is running, it scrambles our systems and mutates, so we have to start from square one again."

Fury frowned deeper, much motioned for Agent Hill to keep going.

"Stark Industries servers are fully operational and 100% stable. This virus is only attacking S.H.I.E.L.D. databases. Any computer which tries logging in to the S.H.I.E.L.D. mainframe is instantly infected and locked out entirely."

Silence fell again. It was a silence in two parts. One, it was the silence of deep thought. Everyone was extending every bit of tech savvy they had to try to find an answer none of them were likely capable of. Two, it was the silence of the shaken. None of them were expecting this. None of them could have expected this, much less have been ready for it.

Three, it was the silence of betrayal.

"There's only one person I know of who would be capable of not only creating such a virus, but of gaining access to the S.H.I.E.L.D. server to plant it." Natasha glanced up at the ceiling, waiting for some kind of rebuttal, some kind of built in defensive response.

That was the last part of the silence. It was absence. A void. Everything had been gutted, and now they were left with nothing.

"Initial reports are suggesting that." Agent Hill let out a huff, looking directly at Stark's chair. Everyone followed her line of sight and knew, if they didn't already, who they were talking about.

"Right now, our hands are tied. We're going to have to do this the old fashioned way until we can get some form of information system running that doesn't rely on Stark Tech."

"And we're going to have to find Loki." Clint cleared his throat, standing up. "I'll keep an eye out. Someone else is going to have to keep the media blind."

Fury's eye widened. Agent Hill went stiff.

If the media found out they'd lost Loki…

"I'm on it." Natasha stood as well, hurrying off. They had to act quick, otherwise those riots were going to be back, and a lot worse.


	54. Part VI Chapter III: Battle Lines

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Marvel Comics or any such related characters. I merely write this story for fun. There is no monetary profit on my end. Thank you, have a nice day.

**Warnings:** Tons. If you have problems with psychological warfare, homosexual relationships, development above and beyond the cannon set by the creators, media being used as a weapon, secret organizations which do not adhere to the Geneva Convention, alcohol abuse, psychological trauma (including but not limited to PTSD), and other things which might be considered "feels inducing" or at all traumatizing… I am surprised you've read far enough to get to this warning. If you do not like these things, please walk the other way.

**Author's Note:** I took a long break from Bitter Sirens, starting with NaNoWriMo in November. A lot has happened. I've got two jobs, a new apartment, and am full swing in graduate level dissertation research, but dammit, I've missed this project. Sorry for the long wait. Hopefully I haven't lost you guys.

**Other Note:** If you guys are wondering what I'm up to on this project, check out my tumblr (I'm battery-powered-genius) or my twitter ( arcreactorkysis). I post stuff semi-regularly on my tumblr and am always connected to twitter, so that's a good way to find out what's up.

**BITTER SIRENS**

**PART VI: NECESSARY EVIL**

**CHAPTER III: BATTLE LINES**

_It was one of those smiles, the sort where Bruce ducked his head but could not quite look away. A chuckle came next, controlled, even, but amused. Bruce always kept himself on a short leash—despite every attempt to loosen it a bit—but that was okay. Tony could not even remember the joke he'd told to get such a reaction, but it was worth it._

"_I'd tell you to tell that to the others, but I think it'd be lost on them."_

_Tony grinned. Yeah, it would be. That's what made it special. It was their little joke now._

_If this could last forever, he'd be a happy man._

_Something started to beep. Tony sat up, glancing over the back of the couch. There were lights on in the kitchen. He couldn't smell anything cooking. Hadn't they already had dinner? Pretty sure; he'd never been good with remembering food, though, so maybe not._

_Tony swiveled back, glass raised to point._

_There was only green._

Tony bolted upright with a gasp.

0

The glass shattered in his hand.

It had been loud and boisterous in the wide dining hall, and yet, it seemed as though that glass, so small, not all that loud, had managed to chase all sound from their vicinity. Every eye was upon him, a portion of their number concerned, the rest worried in an entirely different fashion.

Sif tried to make a smile next to him, if it could be considered an effort at all. She laughed, a worse sound than the glass exploding at the force of his grip, and tried to regroup where the conversation had been interrupted, "As I said, our ties with Midgard are stronger than ever and I feel it will—"

Thor pushed his chair back, standing. He did not need to sit through this. Quickly, he looked to the head of the table for permission.

The Allfather attempted to seem as calm and level headed as ever, but he could see through it. He could see the cracks, as Loki had called them. Odin met his gaze—a tired, pained eye—while he mother would not even look in his direction. Was that guilt she felt for turning Loki over to the wolves for a massacre or resentment that he had to find out about it?

It would seem no one could be trusted. They should be in mourning for losing a prince reinstated to a supposed ally, not gorging themselves on the feast of the hunt. They should be questioning the solidity of such a treaty, if the first term had been to betray one of their own. Loki _was_ one of them, he had proven it by leading the reconstruction of the Bifrost, and yet here they were, acting as though there were no problems within their great kingdom.

Loki was right.

Thor turned, leaving whether he had the approval or not.

0

No matter how loud he cranked the music, no matter how many tools he fired up—hell, no matter how many messes Dummy and Butterfingers made—his workshop still felt silent. Like a void. Did he wake up in the Twilight Zone and miss the memo? That seemed like a serious possibility.

Tony tensed, lifting the box. It wasn't all that big. There was only one thing in it. Didn't matter. It was still heavy, and he couldn't trust his robots not to drop it everywhere. That'd be a travesty, if ever he saw one.

With a grunt, he set the box back down on the main table. It had wheels, he could have just rolled it over, slid the box, done and done, but the manual labor felt like something. It felt like it filled a bit of that void, that nothingness, the damn silence that was blaring over every single noisy thing he did.

His own mind was worse than the Twilight Zone it would seem.

Tony sighed, running a hand up through his hair. He needed to take a shower. That could wait, though. There was a warm cup of coffee on his table and if he went now, the steam would stop, and then there would be even more silence.

Maybe he just needed to breathe.

It was funny how when he didn't need someone to talk to, there were all the people in the world. He'd had a team, and they hadn't all tried to kill him. That could be marketed as a novelty somewhere, he was sure. A t-shirt. Whatever, didn't matter.

They were gone now.

Tony glanced up toward the corner. It did not look any different from the other corners. With the lights dimmed so JARVIS could work his projector magic, all the corners were shadowed. That one, however, was different. It felt like he was being watched. The hairs on his arms stood up whenever he looked in that corner. He checked; they were doing it again. Definitely something unnatural about that corner.

It was funny—and not in the ha ha sort of way—that when he did need someone, anyone, just to take a moment, turn, ask a simple question like 'how are you holding up' there was just this damn silence and emptiness to greet him. Some team, right? He would have laughed if he thought he could manage it.

At least his work was still there, a constant, never _leaving_ him unless he threw it away first. He liked it that way. Why didn't the whole world work like that? It used to.

Tony reached down, dragging his fingers through the box. It was filled with a liquid, black and viscous like oil, but thicker, heavier, colder. It rolled away from his fingers, not sticking to them. No, that would take a considerable amount of force, if he'd calculated everything right. Oh, and if he wanted it to stay in any sort of a form, he'd need to apply an electrical current directly.

The feeling in the corner had not subsided any. He checked on it like checking a watch. That was as good a way as any to check time, seeing as his little observer generally got bored and vanished for periods of time, or whatever fugitive gods did with their time. He wouldn't know.

It was worth a shot, though.

"I first developed this as an answer to the underarmor issue. I wanted something thin, movable, durable. Problem was, anytime I'd stick a nanocomputer in it, the thing would either swim completely out of place—which screws my armor trajectory—or when I hit it with a current, crushes it, and there goes a few thousand dollars."

"_I am well aware of this, Sir. Would you like me to run through diagnostics for a work-around again?_"

Tony leveled his gaze at that corner again, scooping out a ball of the liquid. It rolled in his fingers for a moment, and then formed into a sphere. He'd repurposed it. Isn't that what he did with everything at some point? Sounded about right. It might look like a paintball from hell, but that didn't even cover half of it.

"Not talking to you, JARVIS. Thanks for the offer though." Tony rolled the sphere over his knuckles, not a drop escaping its little ball. This was the stuff of miracles. It could be used to help so many people, and yet right now, his only thought was about how it could possible hurt them.

Nothing really had changed, had it?

"_Certainly, Sir. I will disregard any further statements unless they are directly addressed to me._"

Tony nodded, tapping the fingers on his free hand against the table. He could demonstrate, he could keep talking, pretending like Loki was there and interested in what he was babbling about. Who was he kidding? He'd just freed the equivalent of the Norse god of lies and trickery and expected him to stick around for the fallout. Wow. He was supposed to be a genius. This was a whole new level.

"See, I got to thinking, if I can't encase myself in it, why not encase someone else?" Tony tossed the sphere up, not really following it with his eyes—didn't need to. He caught it just fine, and in the same motion crushed it.

The reaction was instant. One moment, it was a neat little sphere, the next, it was crawling all over his skin, slicking to a thin casing. It kept moving, wandering, constantly shifting. That was the problem—it just couldn't sit still. No matter. He'd find a use for it.

The glass wall lit up, security panel appearing. There was Pepper, pressed suit dress, hair spun up, just enough makeup to notice but not distract. Tony's mouth twitched. He dipped his hand back in the box, the liquid whisking off easily. He'd put a lid over the top by the time the door hissed and slid open.

Pepper paused, looking around.

"What? Expecting more explosions?" Tony waved his hands, turning in one smooth motion. He leaned back against the table and crossed his arms.

"No… Who were you talking to just now?"

Oh. Tony glanced over his shoulder, at the corner. The shadow was still there. He quickly looked away, shrugging. "Myself."

Pepper did not fixate on the corner, at least not too long. Soon enough she was gliding right on over, tablet held out. "I have the preliminary report of damages to the Tower—"

"Already seen it." Tony didn't take the tablet, fiddling with a stray tool instead. She sighed, but didn't push it, pulling the tablet back in on herself. Like a shield. Interesting how body language changed so quickly.

"Then you would know that SI suffered no losses."

"Absolutely."

Pepper paused, rocking up on her feet. She was fighting with something, he could see it, but rather than poke, he kept silent, tossing the tool down. Maybe he'd busy himself with something else.

"Okay. I have my phone if you need anything."

Tony couldn't help but roll his eyes at that one. Yeah, sure. He turned back to the table, barely listening as the door closed again. He might have laughed.

0

The listlessness of the air around the Bifrost gateway served as a balm for his wounds, though he had not realized he was wounded at first. Thor took a deep, long breath, drinking in the quiet, the call, the vastness of space.

Of the stars in the sprawling cosmos above him, he wondered how many had planets and how many of those planets bore life. Of those life bearing planets, he wondered how many had families torn asunder by precarious treaties. There were no doubt hundreds out there, beyond even the reach of the Bifrost, and of those, he could not imagine Asgard as the only one to face such problems.

"You are grim, Son of Odin."

Thor turned slowly, the hum of Mjolnir at his side making the sudden twitch of all his nerves seem unnecessary. It was only Heimdall, and he was sworn to an oath of honor to remain guarding the Bifrost, watching over all of Asgard for as long as the Allfather demanded it.

He fought back a bitter smile, ducking his head so his hair, a loose, chaotic halo, shielded his features. It was a useless gesture, for surely Heimdall could see straight through it and into his heart, but he did it anyhow. The Midgardians had certainly left their mark upon him, just as he had upon them.

What a horrid, fetid mark Asgard had left.

"What of Midgard?" Thor forced the words out, though they were thick, unwilling to part with his tongue. He needed to know what the fate of Loki was, and yet, at the same time, did not. It was a constant struggle, tugging him to and fro.

"Midgard is as the deepest waters." Heimdall did not move, nearly a gold and bronze statue. His lack of reaction was far more relieving than his words. "The surface is pristine."

"What of underneath?"

Heimdall blinked. His hands squeezed upon his sword once more, as though he wished to heft it in his own defense. That was answer enough for him. Thor let out a small laugh, sounding so broken and misplaced in the hush.

"And Loki?"

"I cannot see him."

That could only mean one of two possibilities, neither of which he wished to confront. Either Loki had found his magic once more and thrown a veil upon himself or he had… Thor swallowed, closing his eyes.

They never should have spent him back to Midgard.

0

It was that time again. He set his coffee down in front of the monitor, checking his watch. Bruce eased himself into the chair, and immediately set to typing. Once the usual addresses were all typed into place, all he could do was wait for the connection.

The café was quiet, a little less busy than usual, which was nice. A tour must have left the city. Good thing, too, because he was not sure how much longer he could go without being recognized. It was strange, being out on his own after having someone else looking over his shoulder for so long. He felt exposed.

Bruce checked his watch again. It was a minute past. The server was still loading. He really hoped Natasha didn't decide to just go back to her business as usual without waiting.

An error message popped up right before it finished loading. Of course. Bruce set his mug down again before he could get a good sip, typing in all the information again just to be sure. He didn't have to wait this time.

Couldn't connect to the server. Bruce sighed, sinking back into his chair. First her connection cuts out unexpectedly, then SI's systems go down. He'd seen in the paper that the Tower went dark for an hour.

He'd say it was power failure, but he knew better. Rather, he knew Tony better than that.

Maybe he'd just have to try again.

0

The thickness of the Quinjet's outer walls dampened most of the sound of its engines, but she was not about to point that out. She sat perfectly still, going over a mental catalogue of every hidden compartment on her feminine business attire, from the bangles she wore to the heels of her shoes, playing out small scenarios to be sure everything was ready.

Clint was next to her, and seemed to be doing exactly the same thing, fingers flexing protectively over the handle of his bow, feeling the grooves designed specifically for his hand and bonding with it. Every so often, she would notice his arm muscles twitch. Behind his sunglasses, she could not see his eyes, but she was certain they were moving, darting back and forth as he ran through the same set of contingencies.

Coulson kept on his speech, louder than necessary, without even noticing. He was preoccupied. They all were. This, however, was not the time or the place for such distractions.

"If at all possible, I want there to be zero violence. This is merely a civil meeting." Coulson was repeating himself and pacing, both of which were making her tune it out all the more. She needed to concentrate and focus. "We need to discretely find out where Loki is and determine whether or not Mr. Stark has been compromised. Am I clear?"

"Crystal." Natasha and Clint both said it at the same time. It would be good to be on assignment with him again. It had been entirely too long. Too bad the circumstances could not have been better.

0

His cup of tea was empty. Again. Bruce pursed his lips at the bottom of the cup, with its granules of insoluble herbs. He checked his watch. He had five minutes left. Over the last forty-five minutes he'd gone through two cups of tea, five scientific journals, and three youtube videos, checking back at intervals to see if Natasha was there.

He was starting to think that even if Natasha was there, another issue was preventing the connection.

Sighing, he sat forward again, typing in a new url. It was amazing how his typing speed had gone up. He'd never really thought about it, but being around so much technology had changed him in more ways than he realized.

His email account loaded without any issues. It seemed all SI services were up and running again, at least from what he could see. If there had been more than an hour of downtime, he was sure he would have heard the international uproar by now.

Bruce typed in Natasha's email account, double checking it before tapping out an email. He had three minutes at this point. The internet was abysmally slow here. He'd become spoiled. Great. Vanishing into the wilderness was going to be a lot more difficult than he first thought.

Send.

0

"_Sir, I believe you told me to inform you if a Code Green phenomena occurred_."

His mouth went dry. Code Green. He'd titled that as a joke, a long time ago, when it felt like it was only a joke. He'd never thought he'd have to use it. Here it was.

Tony sucked in a deep breath. Which one had it been? He set down his tools, shaking his head. He knew which one it was.

Before he could respond, JARVIS cut the speakers on. That was a sound he knew. Well. He'd designed the damn things.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was making its move.

"Scratch that JARVIS. I've got bigger fish to fry."

"_Certainly, Sir._"

0

If they wished to keep the media in blackout, landing a Quinjet in the courtyard of Stark's Malibu mansion was not a good first step. It would turn their attention towards them and start bringing questions, none of which S.H.I.E.L.D. was ready to answer.

This was Coulson's call, not her own. If this was how he thought they should do it, they would carry out the mission.

The door opened just as the feet touched down. Natasha stretched a smile across her red lips, making the short steps most women in heels were resigned to. If the media was watching, they would see a very sharply dressed businesswoman with a folder in her arm, unless they decided to look closer.

Clint stayed back in the shadows of the Quinjet, as ordered, bow at the ready. If there were any signs of trouble, he would know what to do. Lethal force was out of the question—according to Coulson. Natasha trusted Clint would make the right call.

The front door opened before she was even halfway to it. Natasha pressed the smile a little harder. If she started this off on a good note, they might stay on one.

It was Pepper.

Natasha stopped walking, smile immediately dropping. Pepper looked confused and hurt, as she did when surprises (normally Stark's fault) rained down on her. This was most definitely one of those instances.

"Hello Miss Potts."

"Natalie." Pepper wrung her hands in front of her before smoothing out her dress, standing at a professional ready. The door clicked shut behind her, but she did not move away from it. It almost looked like she meant to guard it.

"If you would excuse me, I have important business with Mr. Stark." Natasha did her best not to look as tense as she felt. There did not seem to be many lights on within the mansion, but she knew there were also subterranean levels. How many, their intel did not say.

Pepper put on her own smile, just as armored as Natasha's own. It was a wonder, at times, that other organizations had not attempted to recruit her—or if they had, that she was still here.

"Tony is busy at the moment." Pepper put emphasis on his first name, as though that put her on a higher playing field. It was a dangerous game she played.

"I am certain you believe you are doing what is best Miss Potts, but I assure you—"

"I'm sorry. It doesn't seem like you heard me over the engines." Pepper took a few steps closer, gesturing back towards the Quinjet. She stopped again, much closer this time, hands clasped easily in front of her. This time, she very pointedly raised her voice louder. "Mr. Stark is busy at the moment. I can take a message for you, or you can drop by during consultation hours."

"Pepper—"

"They are every other Thursday, as I am sure Director Fury informed you. Now, if there is nothing else?"

Natasha could faintly hear the creek of Clint's bow. She raised her hand sharply, a gesture for him to hold. There it was again, pressure releasing slowly, carefully. She could imagine the motion in her head. That would be distracting, however.

"Look what we have here."

0

A new message appeared in his inbox with one minute left on the timer. Bruce clicked on it before he could even see the sender, the heading. It wasn't until the message had loaded that he realized what it was.

It was a warning message from the SI Hub, telling him that he was attempting to send a message to a suspended user. Bruce read through the whole clause, all four paragraphs of it. It was dry, legal, and worrying.

The monitor went dark as the computer shut down. His hour was up.

0

Natasha's gaze shot upward, Pepper merely closing her eyes, nostrils flaring with one of her sighs.

Tony stepped out from the front door, his full suit impeccable, pressed, each and every line moving with his easy saunter. A wide smile flashed across his face, all white teeth and no warmth. In the moment before he put on his dark sunglasses, she could see that his eyes were the same brown that they had always been, not even a trace of Tesseract blue upon them. She was not sure if she should be relieved or worried by that.

"I'll take it from here, Pep." Tony gave her a quick pat on the shoulder, gesturing her off. Pepper shot him a worried look—which Natasha took special note of—before heading back inside. The moment the door shut, Tony turned his full attention back. "And what brings you out to sunny Malibu?"

"I think you know." Natasha rested her hands on her hips, waiting. It would be easy enough to step right out of her heals and into a forward roll, bridging half the distance between them. With a vault up off the ground, that would get her the rest of the way, right into a precise kick. She smiled again.

Stark put his hands in his pockets. She couldn't be sure, but it almost looked like he was wearing gloves. He shrugged, nonchalant as ever.

"No, actually, I don't. Why don't you enlighten me?"

"_We can't get a clear scan on the mansion. He must have installed signal jammers_."

Natasha ignored Coulson's voice in her ear. If Stark had been jamming signals at the Tower, he would most definitely be jamming them here. All the more if he did, in fact, have Loki.

He could play coy for the rest of his life without breaking a sweat. This wasn't going to go anywhere unless she confronted the issue directly.

"Where's Loki?"

There were two sharp intakes of breath through her earpiece. If they didn't like her methods, they should have sent someone else. Natasha merely pursed her lips, waiting.

"I thought S.H.I.E.L.D. was handling security on him."

The bluff was too good. She really hoped that she wasn't barking up the wrong tree, that Fury hadn't fabricated this whole thing with Stark's name on it because of his testimony. There were too many coincidences lined up for it to be anyone but Stark, but…

"We know you have him."

Stark laughed, pressing a hand to his chest, over the arc reactor. That hand was dark, with the faint gleam of metal, though not bulky enough to be part of a suit. "Please."

"If you relinquish Loki now, we'll overlook the entire situation."

"_Agent Romanoff, you are not authorized to bargain with_—"

"Just hand him over, Stark. You don't want to do this."

"Do what?" Stark's smile was gone, tone entirely serious. It was like a light switch with him, one moment to the next.

"This is a declaration of war against S.H.I.E.L.D., I hope you realize that."

"War?" The smirk that twisted half of Stark's face sent a chill up her spine. "You want to see what I know about war?" Tony lifted his hands up to the sides, a showy gesture which might have cut the tension, if she did not recognize it from the video footage of his presentation of the Jericho Missile. "If you want war, I'll give you war."


End file.
